


Three Steps Behind, Two to the Left

by orphan_account



Category: Free!
Genre: AU, Desert AU, Haru is royalty AU, I'd ask that you don't read if you've not been here from chapter 1, M/M, Magic, Magic AU, OOC, Sex, Slavery, Underage Sex, Well - Freeform, extreme OOC, here we go friends, i think, mentions of abuse, more stuff?, nongraphic sex, not sure how to do, this is going to happen one way or another, trash story, uhhhh, unrecognizeable as canon characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-22 04:23:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3714892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The desert is cruel, as are many of its inhabitants. The days are too hot, and the nights are too cold. Slave masters are cold and uncaring - indifferent. Perhaps Makoto should only have used this option as a last resort...<br/>Dreams crowded with a mysterious malice and days crowded tending to the Crown Prince of the kingdom of Suna have kept Makoto exhausted. Living in constant fear of Haruka's family and companions may very well lead Makoto to his end.<br/>NOTE: A little bit under reconstruction at the moment, I suppose? I'm not entirely sure if I will rework it or finish it (ever) but I couldn't end it the way I ended it, which I discovered after two very insistent comments (the writers of which I do not blame or wish to attack in the slightest). Anyway, the ending chapter has been taken down, and this thing is going to be on indefinite hiatus while I do things I actually have inspiration to do. Sorry, friends. That's just the way it is sometimes. But take a life lesson, yeah? Don't write things you don't have the inspiration and determination to write well and watch source material regularly.<br/>-Oxy</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Slave Trade

**Author's Note:**

> In this story, whenever I say ‘pants’ I don’t mean underwear or trousers – I mean the kind of pants that are all baggy and puffy until you get to the ankles and then they’re really tight. You know, the kind Haru wears during the first ending for Free!

_“Now—” The voice was far away and muffled, like someone speaking through thick air—_

_Makoto’s head whipped around, trying to find the source of the voice. He could see only darkness. Where was he? Why was he there? Who was speaking? What had happened?_

_“—we’re going to go over the rules only once, so you need to listen closely—”_

_The rules? The ones he’d heard earlier?_

_Suddenly the voice was right next to his ear and speaking so clearly Makoto could hear that it wasn’t just one voice—_

_“—or this desert will eat you right up—”_

_Hundreds. Hundreds of voices talking at once. This wasn’t the speech from earlier. Not even close._

_“—till there’s nothing left of you—”_

_It sounded like flies’ wings or snakes hissing_

_“—till you return to us—”_

_like shifting sand like unsettling hot wind_

_“—till you’re ours forever—”_

_it was dry it was thin it was whispering_

_“—eat you right up to nothing—”_

_too hot too dry it burned_

_“—you should’ve run—”_

_it choked it burned it burned_

_“—you had the chance to run but you stayed—”_

_it burned it burned it burned it burned it burned_

_Makoto could see above him in the blackness. Huge red eyes and a horrible razor smile dripping with thick, dark venom._

_“—and now you’re trapped.”_

Makoto shot straight up. He was drenched in sweat and he was shivering and his breath came quickly. His green eyes darted wildly around the room, seeking quivering, grinning shadows thrown by menacing figures. When he found none, he let out a huge breath and let himself fall backwards onto his thin mat.

 

“Up! All of you, get up! Rise now, or be whipped!”

 

Already the temperature was beginning to rise, and burning sunlight filtered through cracks in the ceiling and scattered among airborne dust particles. Makoto could hear the cries of young ladies and boys who were struck across the face or shoulders, and his heart ached for them. A few of the others were crying, but most of them just sort of lay there, shaking and breathing shallowly. Their eyes were wide, unfocused. They’d been drugged in the night; troublemakers were always subdued one way or another.

 

Makoto himself stood and looked down as passively as he could, but his fists clenched in their shackles. He closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath.

 

Today is the day.

 

(((((((())))))))

 

 _The desert is a cruel place_ , Haru mused.

 

Beyond the walls of the Auction House were the open and endless sand dunes. Sunlight washed all of the land with blistering heat, baking everything and anything that it just so happened to touch. When the sun was gone from the sky, though, the temperature plunged. The night air was wrought with a frigid chill that sent shivers running through muscles.

 

There were very few citizens moving around at this time of day – people stayed out of the daylight as much as they could, and therefore most things happened at dusk. The only events that took place during the day were the planting and harvesting of crops in what rare patches of land could support them, and the Auctions.

 

Haru readjusted the scarf that covered the lower half of his face and sighed. He didn’t enjoy coming to these sort of events – he’d rather be soaking in his private pool or sleeping – but Nagisa had vehemently insisted that, as a prince, Haru needed a personal slave. Haru’s quiet protests hadn’t meant much as the smaller, lighter-haired male was dragging him by the hand to the carriage that would take them to the Auction House.

 

The kingdom of Suna, ruled by the Nanase family, had ten Auction Houses. Haru was too tired – Nagisa had woken him nearly five hours before he normally woke – to pay attention to which Auction House it was exactly that he’d been taken to.

 

Haru yawned and blinked away the gathered moisture from his eyes. Haru was running on only about three hours of sleep, so he didn’t particularly care when the Auction Master excitedly bounded up to him and Nagisa and started talking with the blonde.

 

The Auction Master, Haru noticed, was an old, lecherous, balding man. The man made broad hand-gestures and spoke too loudly and Haru instantly didn’t like him. He pitied any person sold or born into slavery who had the displeasure of being examined by this particular Auction Master.

 

The Nobility-designated seating of the Auction House was already filling up with people in their dark, hooded robes and clinking silver jewelry. They spoke animatedly with each other in hushed tones. Perhaps they were talking about which slaves they would buy. Perhaps they were talking about what they would buy later from the tiny grocery markets. In their eyes, neither purchase was more important than the other.

 

Slaves weren’t even people in the opinion of the wealthy. They were property to be traded and bought and sold – their worth was based on their ability to work in the fields, to clean, and to please their masters. More often than not, the slaves bought at the Auctions were sex slaves, and those slaves were generally young girls, not even of marrying age. Haru thought it was disgusting.

 

On the opposite side of the Auction House was seating for the general public. This section was mostly empty, as many common peoples didn’t have enough coin to buy slaves. The few people that did show up either wanted to look at the slaves, or were there to bid futilely, with money that they didn’t have, for family members that they suddenly regretted selling into such a horrifying position.

 

This time, the General seating was sparsely populated. One couple in particular caught Haru’s eye – a woman was shaking, held tight in a man’s arms. The man was doing his best to keep her quiet, but she was taking loud, gasping breaths and was definitely drawing attention to herself.

 

Haru glanced back to the Auction Master and Nagisa, who were discussing the various slaves up for Auction.

 

“We have several lovely young ladies and young men, if His Highness the Prince would perhaps like to stay for the Auction…?” The Auction Master stared expectantly at Haru, and Haru stared blankly back.

 

Haru refused to speak to the Auction Master.

 

Nagisa noticed Haru’s aversion to the man and quickly recovered. “His Highness is actually searching for a personal slave,” Nagisa explained, “but as far as I can tell, he has no distinct preference.”

 

The Auction Master looked slightly concerned, “Is His Highness feeling alright?”

 

“Of course he is,” Nagisa soothed, “he’s just used to sleeping longer than he did today. If it pleases Your Highness,” Nagisa addressed Haru suddenly, “I might show you to your seat?”

 

Haru sighed again. There was no getting out of this now, was there? “You may, Nagisa,” Haru said quietly.

 

Nagisa led Haru to a section of the Auction House partitioned off by ornate golden screens. The Prince was ushered to sit down in a large, squishy chair and was offered wine and other refreshments by the Auction House staff.

 

He declined all refreshment but a chalice of water. He pulled down his face scarf and downed the water like a dying man. Nagisa took the empty chalice from him and handed him a patterned card. Haru raised an eyebrow.

 

“For bidding, Haru,” Nagisa murmured, “You raise the card when you want to bid.”

 

“I don’t _want_ to bid,” Haru insisted, “I don’t want a slave.”

 

“Haru, it’s not as if I’m doing this to torture you,” Nagisa declared, “I know you don’t like this, but your mother and father think you need more responsibility. You’re going to run the kingdom one day.”

 

“Grasping at straws, were they?” Haru scoffed. Responsibility. Apparently Haru’s mother and father thought he was a mere boy getting a pet. As if training a slave was the same as training a puppy. Human beings were not so simple.

 

Nagisa didn’t reply as the oil lamps scattered around the space were dimmed and lamps were lit closer to the stage. It was an old trick used by Auction Masters – make the stage extremely warm and parade naked slaves around on it until they broke a sweat.

 

The Auction Master climbed up onto the stage with some effort and began speaking to the crowd of patrons. Haru stopped paying attention to him, and instead focused on the woman and man he’d seen earlier. The woman’s shaky breaths had escalated to loud sobs that she tried to muffle in the man’s shirt. The man was running his hand down her back as soothingly as he could, but the woman continued crying.

 

She was the mother of one of the slaves up for Auction, then, Haru reasoned. She and her husband probably couldn’t afford to feed the child, and had to sell him or her to the Auction House. The woman seemed very broken up about it, though, so perhaps it was the child’s father’s decision instead.

 

Haru pulled his face scarf back up and frowned. The first slaves were being led onto the stage.

 

Three young girls, chained in a line, stepped tentatively onto the flat stage. Apparently, they were a bit too slow. One of the handlers cracked a whip loudly, and the startled girls jumped and gasped and two of them started crying softly.

 

“These three are from the South District. The red-haired one is thirteen, the blonde one is twelve, and the brunette is eleven. All of them are untainted and pure. Handlers, if you would?” The Auction Master gestured with his huge, sweaty hands.

 

Six handlers stoically descended upon the frightened young ladies and roughly spread their legs apart to display their most private areas. By this point, only the redhead wasn’t bawling. Her mouth was set in a stubborn grimace and she was very tense, but Haru noticed a few tears escaping from her closed eyelids. She was humiliated.

 

Eleven. The youngest one, the brunette whose skin was the color of fresh cream, was _only eleven years old_. Haru shook his head and set the card that Nagisa had given him earlier on his lap. From his position beside Haru, Nagisa sighed.

 

Nagisa couldn’t _force_ Haru to buy a slave – nobody short of the King and Queen could _force_ Haru to do anything – so Haru’s plan was to not show any interest in any of the slaves at all, and then perhaps he could go back to the palace and take a bath. Haru really wanted a bath after spending so much time in such a sickening place.

 

The Nobles quickly began bidding for the slaves – Haru crossed his legs and leaned his head on one hand. He was prepared to wait until the entire Auction was over just to prove a point.

 

The slaves were led up onto the stage and were bought and bought and bought and Haru, while sad for them, couldn’t care too much. If he cared too much, he may fall prey to the desert for showing weakness. The water would miss him.

 

With each and every lot that remained untouched by the blue-eyed prince, the sweaty Auction Master seemed to get more and more nervous.

 

Haru noticed that the woman from earlier was crying harder. Her child must be a part of the next lot, then.

 

“Next,” the Auction Master declared grandly, and the very sound made Haru roll his eyes, “is a lovely young man. He is seventeen years old, and has green eyes. He has no illnesses, and is a virgin.”

 

Haru stared. This slave, unlike all of the others, seemed fairly calm. He was expressionless, but at least he wasn’t crying. The Auction Master had said that the teen’s eyes were green, but that word didn’t really do them justice. Haru thought that they looked like fresh leaves doused in water.

 

The slave was very well muscled. And, Haru noticed dryly, very well endowed. Haru shifted slightly and glanced over at Nagisa. Nagisa was closely examining his nails and was only just starting to look up at the slave in interest.

 

Haru had decided.

 

The Auction Master grinned broadly (read: disgustingly) and said, “We’ll start the bidding at eighty Aureus.”

 

Only _eighty_? Haru nearly scoffed. He wanted the bidding to be at least a bit more interesting before he thought about raising his card.

 

Three minutes passed and the amount had been raised to two hundred Aureus, and the bidding of the Noble patrons was slowing down. It seemed that nobody wanted to pledge above two-fifty, and Haru raised his card.

 

“Five hundred,” Haru intoned clearly.

 

The slave’s attention snapped to Haru. Olive-toned eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. The Nobles were silent, the woman was still sobbing, and Nagisa was smiling victoriously. The Auction Master looked as if he were about to shed a tear in relief.

 

“Do I hear five-fifty? Anyone?”

 

There was no reply. Haru guessed that none of them wanted to interfere with the Prince’s choice of slaves, but it was just a guess. Perhaps they just didn’t want to waste more coin on one slave…

 

“Going once…going twice…” the Auction Master held his breath and looked around the room, “Sold!”

 

The green-eyed slave, still confused, was led off the stage to the back of the Auction House. The woman in the General seating was still crying.

 

Haru was forced to endure the rest of the Auction, during which time he gulped down three more goblets of water, count every tile fitted into the ceiling (there were 4,011, by the way), and sighed so heavily and loudly that it began to annoy Nagisa and patrons nearby.

 

Eventually, the Auction was over, the last slave offstage, and Haru stood from his chair. He looked at it with distaste. It was _not_ the right time of day to be sitting in a chair with a cushion – the air was still sweltering, and Haru grimaced when his clothing clung to his back, sticky with sweat.

 

He and Nagisa made their way to the back of the Auction House. Haru sent Nagisa to settle with the Auction Master while he went to see his new slave. He pulled at the edge of his face scarf, making sure it was definitely in place. He straightened his dark blue robes and approached the shy-looking teen as evenly as he could manage.

 

The olive-haired boy sat on a long bench against a wall. He was still completely nude, save for the heavy metal shackles on his wrists and ankles. Unfortunately, the slave’s miraculous green eyes were closed and there was a tiny frown on his lips.

 

The slave seemed troubled.

 

“Stand,” Haru demanded, and watched, bored, when the slave’s eyes snapped open and he looked about in a startled manner. _Confusion is a very common expression on his face,_ Haru noticed. The slave sort of just sat there on the stone bench and stared up at Haru’s covered face. “Stand,” Haru repeated, growing a little impatient.

 

Was this slave deaf? He’d seemed to be able to hear earlier, when Haru cast his bid, but perhaps the slave did have some sort of impairment…

 

“Stand!” Haru commanded loudly, and the slave scrambled to do just that. Chains clinked and scraped over concrete. The slave looked nervous. “Hmm…” Haru hadn’t gotten the chance to see the slave up close, so he took a long look.

 

The teen was taller than Haru by a few inches, and his chest and shoulders were very broad. The color of his hair – something that Haru had earlier believed to be a trick of the light – was indeed olive.

 

The slave was obviously uncomfortable being examined so closely, and a blush rose to his cheeks. He moved his hands to cover his privates.

 

He was obviously a farmer’s boy. His hands were large and calloused and his skin was heavily tanned. He had a very muscular and powerful frame, built most likely by handling farming equipment. Haru tilted his head to the side. The slave wouldn’t even meet his eyes.

 

“Name,” Haru demanded.

 

“Uhh…”

 

Could he not speak? Did he never learn how?

 

“Tell me your name, slave, or I will make one up,” Haru said.

 

“…Makoto,” the slave replied, “Makoto Tachibana.”

 

“Makoto, I am Haruka Nanase. I have just purchased your life. You will serve me in my home until you die or until the king releases you from slavery,” Haru informed bluntly. A light footstep from his left made Haru turn his head.

 

Nagisa was approaching, smiling slightly. “Your Highness, the Auction Master has been paid. If it pleases you, the carriage is outside to return us to the palace.” He handed Haru a key, and Haru assumed it was the key to Makoto’s shackles.

 

“Ah,” Haru murmured, pocketing the key. “I need a bath. I’d like to leave,” Haru turned partially away before realizing that Makoto was still nude. “Nagisa, give Makoto your outer cloak.”

 

Nagisa hesitated slightly, but with a sharp glance from Haru, he unclasped his cloak and handed it to Makoto.

 

The slave looked absolutely ridiculous – the cloak was far too short for him, only coming down to his knees – but at least he wasn’t completely naked anymore. He’d needed a bit of assistance, though, as his wrists were still bound.

 

Nagisa led Haru and Makoto through the dark, almost-cool stone hallways to the exit. In the scalding, bleaching sunlight, a gleaming carriage awaited the Prince and his company’s arrival. The door opened and Haru was helped into the dark, wide space. He sank down onto the lightly padded bench with a sigh.

 

Haru’s blue eyes tracked over to Makoto, who had entered behind Nagisa, and was about to take a seat next to Haru.

 

“No,” Haru said, and Makoto froze.

 

Makoto looked at Haru questioningly.

 

“Sit on the floor,” Haru commanded, and at Makoto’s visible indignation, he said, “Be glad that I am not so cruel as to make you walk to the palace from here.”

 

Honestly, Haru never would’ve even considered making Makoto walk to the palace – Haru had made that walk himself when in a fit of childish upset he’d refused to ride in the carriage. The sun was so hot and Haru was so little… He’d eventually collapsed onto the burning sand not ten feet in front of the palace gates. By the end, Haru was delirious with thirst and he had the worst sunburn he’d ever gotten.

 

Haru would never make anyone walk for that long.

 

But there were some slave masters who would. Haru had seen it himself, when noble people came to the castle for lunch or dinner by invitation. He’d watched from a window as slaves, exhausted beyond belief, were practically dragged behind carriages in chains. He’d seen many of them die.

 

And their masters would just cluck their tongues in disappointment and have their remaining slaves clean up the corpses. A minor inconvenience.

 

Makoto still looked a bit putout, but he sat cross-legged on the floor anyway.

 

“You will learn the rules soon enough, slave,” Nagisa said brightly. It was only a little disconcerting to hear those words in that tone.

 

Haru dragged the door shut, plunging the interior of the carriage into darkness. He rapped on the wall sharply, and the driver spurred the camels into motion. Haru pulled a bottle from a rack and drank the entirety of its contents. He was still tired. He felt disgusting. He wanted a bath and then he wanted to go to sleep, preferably in the bath.

 

He didn’t want to have to be the owner of a human being. It seemed exhausting.

 

The carriage was silent on the way back to the palace, and Haru breathed in the cool darkness and downed another bottle of water on the journey. He almost fell asleep in his seat twice, and his face scarf migrated downwards until the edge was just barely hanging on to the tip of his nose.

 

Eventually, when the carriage came to a slow stop and Haru was jerked out of his half-sleep by the clattering of wheels over stone rather than the dragging, hissing sound of wheels over what must have been ninety-percent sand, Haru opened the door and stepped out, Nagisa close behind him.

 

The choking desert air assaulted Haru’s lungs at once, and he yanked his scarf back up his face. One of the doormen raced out to meet him with a parasol.

 

Makoto was scrambling to follow him, but Haru paid him no mind. Haru walked as dignifiedly as he could, the doorman close by his side while shading Haru with the parasol.

 

Inside the palace, it was pleasant. The walls were stone and the entrance hall had huge blue and white tapestries hanging all around, draping from the high ceilings to the ground. Haru stepped one foot inside of the hall and immediately was approached by servants waiting to attend him.

 

“Your Highness, may I take your cloak?” One of the servants asked.

 

Haru nodded and undid the clasp of the heavy blue fabric. He stepped out of his shoes, allowed someone to dab at his sweaty neck with a towel, accepted a glass of water, and set off at a brisk pace to his rooms. His bath was practically calling his name.

 

“Your Highness,” Nagisa began, trotting a bit to keep up with the brunette.

 

“Hm?”

 

“Would you like me to punish the slave?” Nagisa asked.

 

Nagisa, of course, was referring to the fact that Makoto was following more closely behind Haru than the three paces to the back and two to the left than was custom. Haru slowed to a stop and saw that Makoto suddenly looked terrified.

 

“No,” Haru said, casting a sideways glance at Makoto’s relieved face, “He hasn’t been a slave for very long. Explain the rules to him, have the tailors and metalworkers measure him for proper garb, and then send him to my chambers. If he makes a mistake after that, I will punish him myself,” Haru tossed a key he’d pulled from his pocket at Nagisa, who caught it and bowed his head, obviously dismissed.

 

Haru began to walk down the hall again, leaving Makoto in Nagisa’s company.

 

It was only a few moments later that Haru removed his headscarf and his shoulder wrap and his pants and slipped into the waters of his bathtub smoothly. Several servants volunteered to bathe him and he waved them off. They knew not to bother him after that point.

 

Haru’s ‘bathtub’ was much larger than a bathtub – it was practically a personal swimming pool. It was made of marble and built into the ground. The deepest part of it was at least five feet.

 

Haru didn’t know how long he’d been floating on his back in the water. It could have been hours, or it could have been minutes. Either way, the peace in the room was interrupted by the opening and closing of his door. Footsteps tapped along the floor and eventually came to pause just before the edge of Haru’s pool. Haru opened his eyes.

 

Makoto stood there, shaking slightly, with a small box in his shackled hands. He looked scared. He wore no tunic or shirt – just a pair of pants. His feet were bare. At least he was out of that ridiculous cloak.

 

The servants that generally attended to Haru’s room seemed surprised – they were not informed of the arrival of a new slave.

 

“Give me the box,” Haru commanded quietly, reaching out his hand for the object. It was placed in his palm and he slid the cover off to find that it contained a note from Nagisa and the key to Makoto’s shackles.

 

_Haru-_

_I told your slave the rules. He’s been measured. Expect his things tomorrow._

_-Nagisa_

 

Just like Nagisa, Haru mused, short and to the point. He tore the note up and carelessly flung the pieces to the side. A dark-haired young girl stooped low to pick them up, and then returned to her statue-like stillness.

 

“So,” Haru began as he hauled himself out of the water, “Nagisa managed to get through his entire speech, and you still draw breath. You must not have spoken out of turn, then. It seems your parents taught you _something_ before they sold you for pocket change.” He stood a few feet in front of Makoto naked and dripping wet.

 

Haru’s words were a test. They were quietly mocking and demeaning – baiting, jeering. Makoto failed that test.

 

His tanned face grew red and his bright green eyes widened and he exclaimed, “How _dare_ you talk about my parents that way!” Oh, he was definitely angry.

 

Haru raised his hand and struck Makoto across the face.

 

“ _Ack_!”

 

“Leave us!” Haru commanded the rest of the servants, and they quickly filed out of the room, closing the door behind them.

 

“I thought that not speaking back was lesson number one,” Haru remarked dryly as Makoto clutched his reddening cheek. “It’s a lesson you’d do well to remember, slave.”

 

Makoto looked almost betrayed and his eyes filled with tears. Haru softened.

 

“You have to understand,” Haru said, “I don’t want to punish you, I really don’t. But I am one of the only people here who won’t punish a slave according to the rules. If you ever spoke like that in front of my mother or father, you’d be flogged, stoned, whipped, maybe even killed. I wouldn’t be able to stop it.”

 

Makoto’s teary eyes had grown wider and wider as Haru spoke. His cheek still stung and had gotten just about as red as it was going to get, but Makoto ignored the feeling. He was horrified.

 

“So, you see,” Haru muttered as he wrapped a towel around his naked waist, “it’s definitely better for you to be thoroughly acquainted with the rules now.”

 

The prince walked over to his immense closet, where he chose a dry pair of pants and slipped them on. Makoto followed him exactly three paces behind and two to the left.

 

“You may ask me questions, if you wish,” Haru said.

 

Makoto was silent for a moment, knowing what he wanted to ask but now knowing how to phrase it. He obviously didn’t want to be slapped again.

 

“…Why did you buy me?” Makoto asked finally, his hands picking at a loose thread on his pants nervously.

 

“Because my friend dragged me to the auction house and told me I needed to buy a slave and you were the only one that stood out,” Haru replied. He dragged his fingers through his hair, decided it was combed enough, and met Makoto’s eyes. “Who was that woman?”

 

Makoto blinked, “Woman?”

 

“The crying woman in the General Seating. Who was she?”

 

“Oh,” Makoto frowned and looked away, “That was my mother.”

 

“Why was she there?” Haru demanded.

 

“Why do you ask?” Makoto countered.

 

Haru narrowed his eyes and had a hand gripping Makoto’s hair before the slave knew what was happening. Makoto cried out and Haru yanked his head down by his hair.

 

“We’ve had this conversation before,” Haru murmured in Makoto’s ear, “do _not_ talk back. Answer respectfully and clearly when I ask you a question, and address me properly.”

 

“How would you like me to address you?” Makoto hissed through clenched teeth.

 

Haru’s grasp tightened, “You will call me ‘Master’ in public. Until it becomes a reflex, you’ll address me the same way in private. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes.”  


Haru wrenched Makoto’s hair painfully. “‘Yes,’ _who_?”

 

“Yes, Master. I understand.”

 

Makoto nearly trembled in relief when Haru let go of his hair. He stood up straight and rubbed at his throbbing scalp. Haru snatched up the key to Makoto’s shackles and reached up to unlock them. The heavy metal fell to the floor with a loud clank and Makoto blinked in surprise.

 

“I’m tired, so I’m going to sleep. We’ll be going to the tattoo artist tomorrow to have you marked. This conversation of ours isn’t over.”

 

Makoto gulped.

 

“There’s a mat over there,” Haru gestured vaguely, and climbed onto his own bed, “It would do you well to sleep when I sleep. In the palace, the most common sleeping hours are from just after dawn until dusk. Adapt quickly, farmer-boy. Close the shutters and don’t disturb me.”

 

((()))

 

Haru did finally manage to make up for most of his lost sleep. He dreamt of huge, turbulent oceans and dark storms, until a strange noise woke him. Haru raised a tired eyebrow and pushed himself up onto his elbow to observe his still-sleeping slave.

 

It seemed Makoto was having a nightmare.

 

Makoto shot straight up. He was drenched in sweat and he was shivering and his breath came quickly. His green eyes darted wildly around the room. Eventually, he let out a huge breath and let himself fall backwards onto his thin mat.

 

“Are you dying?” Haru asked casually. His throat was clogged with sleep.

 

An olive-colored brow raised in confusion. “Dying, Master?”

 

“Yes, dying.”

 

“No, Master.”

 

“Good. It would be unfortunate if I needed to resuscitate you,” Haru climbed off of his bed and stretched his arms and legs with a groan and a yawn. He glanced around with sleepy blue eyes and scratched his head. “Open the blinds, Makoto.”

 

Makoto did his best not to stare, or think too much on that ‘resuscitate’ thing or the way his name sounded coming from Haru’s lips. He rose from his mat and opened each set of shutters, letting the orange and yellow light of the setting sun flood the room.

 

A few servants arrived at the door bearing trays laden with food, presumably for the Prince’s breakfast. The servants were relieved of their burdens and dismissed easily, leaving a nibbling, bed-head-stricken Prince and his new slave alone. Haru lounged on a luxurious silk cushion, naked but for a pair of dark blue pants. He was fantastically disheveled.

 

A knock echoed off the stone walls of Haru’s room.

 

“Makoto, answer the door.”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

Makoto moved briskly over to the heavy door and pulled it open with some effort. He examined the person who stood outside of the door as quickly as he could. No bronze bracers. Not a slave. Gold earrings– a Nobleman.

 

He recited the greeting Nagisa had drilled into his head.

 

“If I may ask, Honorable Sir, who calls on my Master?” Makoto stared at the ground.

 

“The Royal Clothier has a delivery for His Highness the Prince,” said the tall man. He pushed the large bundle he held at Makoto.

 

The slave fumbled a bit before he managed to get a good grip on the heavy pile of fabric and metals.

 

“Rin?” Haru called curiously from a low table in the center of the huge chamber. “Would you like to come in for a while? I was just about to bathe; why don’t you join me?” Haru barely even looked up from his breakfast as he spoke.

 

It wasn’t uncommon for family members or friends to bathe together – water was scarce in the desert and it was important to conserve it whenever one could, but it was usually out of necessity. Clearly, Haru and his family had enough access to water that they’d never have to bathe together (case in point – Haru’s giant personal pool) so why was Haru even offering?

 

And why was Rin so happy about it?

 

Rin was about two inches taller than Makoto, he had bright red eyes to match his bright red hair, and when he grinned in response to Haru’s invitation, Makoto gaped at the sight of sharp teeth. The strange familiarity of that smile and those eyes threw a shudder through Makoto’s veins.

 

“If it pleases Your Highness, how can I refuse?” Rin pushed Makoto aside and stalked his way over to Haru. His chunky gold jewelry made a clinking music as he moved, and rubies glinted in bright light. Makoto counted at least ten piercings, and not all of them were in Rin’s ears.

 

Makoto pushed the huge door closed again and watched curiously as Haru and Rin interacted.

 

Rin sat rather _close_ to Haru, stretched out like a cat beside the Prince.

 

“You didn’t tell me you’d bought a slave,” Rin chuckled, eyeing Makoto. 

 

“Hmm. My parents and Nagisa made me,” Haru mumbled and chewed on a piece of fruit thoughtfully. His dark hair hung in his eyes.

 

Rin laughed, “That _is_ the only way you’d buy one. Even so,” Rin paused, “I didn’t think you’d pick one so…new.”

 

“Nagisa took me to one of the Auction houses that deals specifically in new slaves. There wasn’t a choice in the matter,” Haru replied.

 

“Rather _odd_ coloring, don’t you think? If it weren’t for his tan and his hands, I’d say he was a Nobleman,” Rin tilted his head and stared at Makoto.

 

Makoto didn’t feel very well. Something about this Rin guy…

 

Haru chose not to say anything regarding Rin’s statement. Instead, he chose to ask, “What did the Clothier send me, Rin?”

 

“Slave, bring the package over here,” Rin commanded.

 

Makoto didn’t know what to do. Rin wasn’t his master, Haru was. Makoto hesitated and tried to catch Haru’s gaze. Finally, Haru looked up and nodded once at Makoto.

 

Rin pinched the edge of a note that was tucked in between the folds of the fabric and handed it to Haru.

 

“Hmm. Good,” Haru evaluated, and tore the note into scraps. He looked at Makoto. “This is your new clothing. Get changed,” he said evenly, and took a sip of water.

 

Makoto wasn’t quite sure what to do again. Was he supposed to get changed here? Was he supposed to go somewhere else?

 

This time, Makoto’s period of inaction was too much for Rin, who barked, “Are you deaf? Get changed, now!” At Makoto’s flinch, Rin stood up. Though he was only an inch or so taller than Makoto, Rin seemed to tower over the slave.

 

Makoto blanched. There was a burning in those eyes, like someone had captured two suns and stuck them right into Rin’s head. Makoto shrank away from the Nobleman, but Rin gripped his upper arms tightly. It hurt so badly that Makoto dropped the bundle on the floor.

 

“You’d do well to know your place,” Rin growled lowly; his hands squeezed tighter, and Makoto couldn’t hold in a strangled cry.

 

“Rin,” Haru said warningly, “let him go.” Haru hadn’t moved a muscle, but it seemed as if he suddenly stood somewhere far above Rin and looked down upon him.

 

“I will not allow this slave to disrespect you!” Rin growled.

 

“At the moment, it is _you_ who is disrespecting me. Let. Him. _Go_.” Haru ground out quietly. The corners of his mouth turned down into a frown and he glared at his friend. Haru reminded Makoto of ice.

 

Rin seemed surprised, but he released Makoto. The slave stumbled back a few paces and winced at the sensation of blood rushing back through his arms. Huge red splotches decorated his skin.

 

Rin scrambled to apologize. “Haru, I didn’t mean to upset you, really. But not obeying orders is grounds for a flogging. If you don’t want to do it, I can–”

 

“Perhaps it would be best if you leave,” Haru said coolly.

 

The tall redhead’s surprise quickly morphed into anger. His fists clenched at his sides and he stared at the ground indignantly.

 

“Of course, Your Highness. It would greatly honor me to visit you again on a different occasion,” Rin bowed stiffly.

 

“Maybe later,” _‘when you’ve cooled down_ , _’_ was left implied. Haru gestured to the door with a nod.

 

Rin looked quite defeated as he turned slowly and started to trudge to the door, but as he stepped nearer to Makoto, the glare he fixed the teen with said just the opposite. That glare paralyzed Makoto; he stood stationary as Rin knocked shoulders with him as he passed.

 

The door was abruptly opened and closed once more, and Haru stood from the table.

 

“I need a bath,” Haru said curtly to Makoto, “Get changed and make yourself presentable in the next fifteen minutes. We’re going to get you marked.”

 

With that, Haru stripped out of his pants and stalked his way to his bathroom, leaving Makoto to dread the coming appointment.

 

Ownership of a slave in Suna was a rather tricky thing; there were several codes and laws that pertained to the actual possession of slaves, and almost none that involved the safety or well being of the slave him or herself.

 

Slaves who were marked with the insignia or family crest of their masters via tattoo enjoyed what little protections slaves were allowed, including being required to obey their master’s orders only. Additionally, if a marked slave were to steal an item or look upon someone of high status, the master of the slave would be consulted before the slave would be punished. If the master preferred, he or she could carry out the punitive measures himself or herself.

 

Unmarked slaves, however, enjoyed none of the rights a marked slave was entitled to. It was dangerous to be unmarked. Nobody wanted to be unmarked.

 

Makoto didn’t want to be an unmarked slave (he didn’t want to be a slave at all) but he’d heard horror stories that had gradually trickled down through the grapevine about infected tattoos, and slaves had needed to have entire limbs removed because of their rapidly deteriorating health. It was likely just hyperbole, but Makoto wasn’t the type to take many chances.

 

The olive-haired slave poked hesitantly at the large pile of clothing and picked out a pair of dark gray pants. He found a set of silver bracers and pulled them on too, and examined himself in the mirror. He looked just like the slaves that cleaned up the Auction House, though their bracers had been iron. And maybe, he mused as he tried to smile despite the situation, there was a light in his eyes that those slaves didn’t have.

 

The smile fell from his face in a grimace and he turned away from the glass.

 

“So, Makoto,” Haru reentered the room clad in a towel and smelling of sweet soap, “I see you’ve managed to pick out your own clothing.”

 

“Uhh…yes, Master,” Makoto picked at the waistband of the pants and did his best not to stare at Haru’s lean backside as the dark-haired prince dropped his towel and went to put on his own clothes.

 

“How do your arms feel?” Haru asked as he tugged on a pair of pants and a shoulder wrap. He deftly fastened the golden clasp of a cloak while he turned to face his slave. Haru’s cool blue eyes fell on the quickly darkening bruises on Makoto’s upper arms.

 

“They hurt, Master,” Makoto replied.

 

“I do apologize for Rin; he can be quite impulsive at times, and he really needs to learn how to watch his mouth,” Haru grimaced.

 

“It’s no trouble, Master.”

 

“Let’s go; I’d rather not keep the artist waiting much longer.”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

Haru swept out of the room with Makoto on his heels, and the two ventured through the halls of the palace swiftly. They strode past the entrance hall and made so many turns that Makoto probably wouldn’t be able to remember if his life depended on it. Servants milled around quietly, lighting large oil lamps to make up for the dying daylight. Elegant tapestries and beautiful gilded tiles decorated the walls, and the stone beneath Makoto’s feet was cool and occasionally interrupted by the soft padding of woven carpets.

 

It was more opulence and obvious wealth than Makoto had seen in a long time, and he was so focused on staring at his surroundings that he nearly made the grievous error of continuing to walk even after Haru had stopped. Nearly. Not quite. Makoto caught himself just before overstepping his master, whose hand was raised to knock on a door.

 

“Enter!”

 

Haru pushed open the door and sauntered inside, and Makoto followed. Haru approached a man near a table in the middle of the room, and shook his hand with a grin.

 

Makoto glanced around at the room and wondered if there would be enough light for the artist to see well.

 

“Thanks for coming on such short notice, Rei,” Haru said gratefully.

 

The man, Rei, pushed up his glasses with something that wasn’t quite a smile, but wasn’t exactly a frown either.

 

“Glad to be of assistance, Your Highness,” Rei replied, and stole a glance at Makoto. “This is the slave you want me to mark?”

 

Makoto was waiting for Rei to be reprimanded for his bluntness, but Haru just nodded once and released Rei’s hand. Rei stood up and walked in a circle around Makoto.

 

Makoto felt uncomfortable.

 

“Your insignia or your family’s crest?” Rei asked as he completed his circle.

 

“My insignia. Best not to have my father involved with this one,” Haru intoned.

 

“Where?”

 

“Both forearms.”

 

“Very well.”

 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Haru said, and turned to leave the room.

 

Makoto stood before Rei, nerves shaking his fingers a little bit.

 

“You shouldn’t be so anxious. All of my equipment is completely sterile and I cater only to the needs of my friends and the highest-paying clientele. You have no reason to be frightened,” Rei said as he picked up a small container of alcohol.

 

Friends. Makoto blinked. So Rei and Haru were friends, then.

 

Rei gestured with one hand for Makoto to sit, and Makoto sat. The pungent stench of alcohol and the rough rubbing of a damp cloth on Makoto’s right forearm filled the pregnant silence.

 

“Well, then,” Rei raised a needle, presumably to poke into Makoto’s skin, “shall we begin?”

 

Makoto took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and nodded.

 

And an hour later, Rei put the finishing touches on the ornate ink design that sprawled across the irritated red flesh of Makoto’s left arm. Both arms had taken half an hour each, during which time Rei had needed to chastise Makoto at length for his pained spasms.

 

Makoto had remembered the time he had been working by himself on his family’s farm, before the twins had been born, and whilst carrying a large bundle of barbed wire to fix a gap in the perimeter fence, had tripped. The awkward way he had fallen had caused the barbed wire to rip into his calf, sending burning, tearing pain shooting up his nerves.

 

Whatever it was that Rei was using to mark Makoto’s skin caused a similar pain, and throughout the entire thing Makoto’s jaw was clenched and he did his best to keep tiny tears from leaking out of the corners of his eyes.

 

Rei bandaged up Makoto’s left arm as he had done his right, and then the artist stood, curtly told Makoto to stay put, and left the room. Makoto tried to take his mind off of the constant stinging deep in his skin, and did his very best to recall the tiny farm he’d called home for a long while.

 

Brown mud walls, baked hard as stone by the endless sunlight and sectioning off four rooms, each of them used for a different purpose. Makoto’s own room, and his parents’ room, and the kitchen, and the living room. And around the tiny house stretched a small farm.

 

And Makoto remembered being very young when his family moved from the old house by the huge ocean to the tiny farm in the hot, dry desert. At first he’d been helping his mom with what she did all day – milking the two cows, sweeping out the house, baking the brown, brown bread. Then it was helping Father mend fences, plant seeds, and fix the little irrigation system in the hot, hot sun. The Royal Palace was very kind in lending amounts of water to farmers through the little canals, as Makoto’s father explained to him every single day. Makoto’s entire family is very, very grateful to their Highnesses the Nanases.

 

And as a small child, Makoto of course nodded his head and accepted all of these statements as facts. Of course the Royal Palace was gracious and benevolent; as if it could be anything else! How could it be?

 

Makoto remembered the cool nights spent mainly in his mother’s lap as she read to him. He always asked for the one about the fish, the one she always read him, and she never seemed to tire of it. Then she put him to bed, and he could just barely hear those angry, muffled shouts of his mother arguing with his father about what the family didn’t have, and about the meager money and food. There was always shouting about something.

 

His mother crying in later years because she didn’t want to bring more children into this life of poverty and hunger…

 

“Makoto.”

 

The teen in question looked up quickly.

 

Haru stood in the door, blue eyes urgent and slightly tired. He gestured once with his head for Makoto to follow him and then he was out the door. Makoto sprung from his chair and made to follow Haru. The stone was still cold under his feet.

 

He trailed three steps behind Haru, and two to the left.

 

Haru made his way to the throne room with Makoto in tow. His father had instructed him to bring his new slave, and Haru had no choice but to obey. In the long hallway just in front of the door, Haru turned and brought his mouth very close to Makoto’s ear. Makoto blinked at the feeling of warm breath washing over his face.

 

“You are about to meet my father and my mother. You will be on your very best behavior. As soon as I stop and bow, you will kneel. Do not meet my father’s eyes. Do not meet my mother’s eyes. Keep your head bowed, and do not speak unless either one of them asks you a question directly. Remember the consequences I told you about yesterday,” Haru murmured. “Do you understand what I am telling you?”

 

Makoto nodded vigorously, hair falling into his eyes.

 

“Good.”

 

Haru turned on his heel and pushed open the door. Makoto kept his eyes carefully trained on the backs of Haru’s ankles and walked behind him three steps and kept two to the left. When Haru stopped walking, Makoto knelt. He stared at the seams in the stone as a tiny shuffling in fabric told him that Haru was bowing to his parents.

 

“Haruka. I assume you received my message.”

 

“Yes, Father.”

 

“And that is the slave you purchased?”

 

“Yes, Father.”

 

“You have been training it yourself.”

 

It wasn’t a question.

 

“Yes, Father.”

 

“I expected nothing less. You have had it marked very recently.”

 

Makoto wondered what the king looked like, to have such a powerful voice. If Haru looked anything like his father, then perhaps the frigidly forceful tones were contained in a shorter frame.

 

“Yes, Father.”

 

“Will this slave be your personal attendant within the month?”

 

“Yes, Father.”

 

“If this slave brings shame upon myself, your mother, or this household, I will take its punishment into my own hands.”

 

“Of course, Father.”

 

Makoto trembled. The King did not seem like the kind to take simple mistakes very lightly. Makoto remembered the slaves he had seen branded with the royal seal – lashing scars dragging across backs, across thighs in raised, angry lines. They apparently had not done satisfactory work enough to remain in the service of the royal household, and were being resold. Those slaves were the emptiest looking of all of them.

 

“Very well. Son, I expect your presence at dinner later. Your mother and I have a meeting to attend.”

 

“Yes, Father.”

 

Makoto bowed his head further and shrank down as far as he could to the stone floor as he heard loud shuffling from far in front of him. The king was moving towards him.

 

In the next instant, the only remnant of the king’s presence was a soft breeze brushing across Makoto’s back.

 

“Stand,” Haru ordered from directly in front of Makoto, “We will be returning to my rooms.”

 

Makoto rose, head still bowed, and followed Haru as he had been instructed to. The trip back to Haru’s extensive rooms passed in a blur, until Makoto found himself sitting on a low ottoman next to Haru’s personal pool.

 

“You seem stunned,” Haru mentioned casually as he braced his naked form against the edge of the pool. “My father is not hesitant about demanding things he wants, or expressing his irritation when things do not go his way. As a father, he isn’t particularly cold or uncaring, though he has no tolerance for failure.”

 

Makoto shook himself. Haru was speaking to him, but Makoto did not know if he had been given permission to speak. There had been no question asked that he could remember, and Makoto didn’t want to be struck again.

 

“Have you ever been swimming, Makoto?” Haru asked.

 

“Yes I have, Master.”

 

But Makoto didn’t remember it very well, and would have little to nothing to say about it.

 

“When?” Haru persisted.

 

“I went swimming very frequently before my family moved here, Master.”

 

“Where did you live before?” Haru demanded.

 

“I do not remember the name of it, Master, but I do remember it was by the ocean.”

 

“Why did you move here?”

 

Makoto flinched. He did not want to remember it. He did not want to remember. The recollection sprang upon him as it often did in quiet moments, when the pit of his stomach was leaden with shame and his eyes stung. It was his fault, after all. His father had been very clear about that during those nights when he returned from the taverns.

 

“There was a storm,” Makoto finally admitted, “A very violent storm that hit the coast. Some very valuable items were…lost at sea, and the damages to my house couldn’t be repaired. My father’s fishing boat was destroyed. My mother and father waited for a few days until the last of the storm passed, and then moved us here. We have farmed a small plot of land ever since.”

 

Haru stared impassively at Makoto with his cool blue eyes. Makoto did his best not to fidget, and dropped his gaze to the floor.

 

“So you came here out of necessity,” Haru said, “and then your parents sold you into slavery.”

 

Makoto could feel himself getting angry, and had to take a few deep breaths to calm down. Haru watched in amusement.

 

“I can tell you would like to speak freely. You may do so as long as you are not disrespectful.” Haru declared.

 

“With all due respect, Master, I volunteered to be sold into slavery. My parents desperately needed the money, and with my mother and father trying to support me and my two younger siblings, I was just using up resources,” Makoto said.

 

“You try to make it seem as if that were the reason, but I can tell it’s not. There’s something more that you’re not telling me. You don’t have to tell me. I won’t make you.”

 

“Thank you, Master.”

 

Haru nodded once and then rose from the huge pool. He snatched a towel from a low bench and rubbed it through his hair, padding out of the room completely unclothed and still soaking wet.

 

Makoto stared. He wanted to believe that he would absolutely detest being used exclusively to serve Haru’s baser and more primal needs, but then Makoto caught a glimpse of Haru’s frankly very attractive ass, and had to rethink that for a little bit.

 

“You will need to attend to me at dinner this evening,” Haru said from the other room.

 

Makoto stood and meandered his way into Haru’s sleeping chamber, where Haru had finished putting on a pair of pants and was slipping on a shoulder wrap with a heavy golden collar. Haru met Makoto’s eyes in the mirror.

 

“Which means now I’m going to give you a crash course in royal dinner etiquette and how slaves behave during said royal dinners,” Haru continued, and turned around to face Makoto. “The situation is by no means ideal. I had hoped to have a few weeks to teach you how to behave during these events before you needed to attend me in front of my father.”

 

Makoto could feel his nerves starting to get the better of him. He inhaled and exhaled shakily, and Haru pinned him with a cold yet knowing glance.

 

“Let’s hope you learn quickly.”

 

~*~*~

 

 Makoto was tense. He kept his eyes down as far as he dared while still being able to see Haru’s glass. The prince had informed him that we wasn’t much of a wine drinker – the only beverage he enjoyed was water, and therefore Makoto shouldn’t even bother replenishing Haru’s wine glass.

 

The people sitting at the long dining table, including the king and queen, Haru, and a visiting royal family, were holding a calm conversation about one thing or another. Makoto heard the word marriage being tossed around and he glanced at the foreign King’s daughter for just a moment. She was definitely making eyes at Haru, who really didn’t seem like he could be bothered to look at her.

 

Rin, the aggressive, red-haired, shark-toothed man from earlier sat to Haru’s left, and didn’t seem to take too kindly to the princess of the other kingdom staring so heatedly at Haru. From his position behind Haru and against the wall, Makoto could just barely see Rin’s mouth curled downwards in a slight frown.

 

Haru quickly polished off a third glass of water, and Makoto stepped evenly forward to refill it. His hands were shaking once again as he restored the goblet to its full state, and Haru’s eyes darted up to meet Makoto’s for just a moment. With a single look, Makoto felt so much calmer than he had. It seemed almost as if Haru were telling him that he was doing okay. That everything was going well.

 

Makoto stepped back to his place against the wall and could feel the relief seeping into his veins. He remembered the rules that Haru had told him and took deep breaths as quietly as he could.

 

“Prince Haruka,” the foreign king was saying, “I believe it would be in the best interest of your kingdom and mine for this marriage to take place.”

 

“With respect, King Rhashal, I must focus on my studies at present. My father is expecting to step down from his throne as soon as I come of age, at which time I must be ready to ascend. I am afraid to say that I have no time to relegate to a wedding, let alone to making sure that your daughter is as loved and cherished as she clearly deserves to be,” Haru bent his head remorsefully.

 

Makoto tried his best to withhold any shocked expression. They were expecting Haru to get married? He was what, seventeen? Makoto spent just a moment being impressed by Haru’s speaking skills before controlling his thoughts once more.

 

“Nanase, will you allow your son to pass this opportunity to connect our kingdoms? Indeed, will you?” The rather rotund and warmly dressed foreign king was asking.

 

He must come from a much colder place, Makoto mused.

 

“I trust my son’s judgment. If he does not believe that this is the best option, I will respect his decision. Haruka will not be forced into a dysfunctional marriage by me or my wife,” King Nanase replied, taking a sip of his wine.

 

Makoto assumed that answered that question.

 

The foreign king, Rhashal, seemed terse for the rest of the meal. The dinner ended in a tense fashion and Haru respectfully excused himself from the dinner table with a low bow towards his parents and the foreign royal family.

 

“I hope to enjoy your company more on the morrow. It would be a pleasure to speak with you once more,” Haru said respectfully. Then he straightened his back and glanced over at Makoto. “Come, Makoto.”

 

Makoto’s pitcher of water was wrested from his anxious, too-tight grip from a slightly shorter, light-haired male.

 

The slave followed the prince out into the dim hallway. Makoto noticed out the windows as they walked that the first light of dawn was appearing on the horizon. All of the windows would soon be shut and then the day’s rest would begin.

 

He hadn’t realized how tired he was. Trying to force his circadian rhythm to completely reverse wasn’t agreeing with him, Makoto reasoned. The stresses of the day left him feeling exhausted. The adrenaline from his anxiety was quickly training from his system and his extremities felt numb. He didn’t notice Haru shooting him a concerned glance when he stumbled over his own feet slightly.

 

Makoto followed Haru three steps back and two to the left, and Haru ordered his room attendants to close the shutters against the rising sun and then leave. Haru gently placed his hands on Makoto’s shoulders and pushed the taller teen down onto the mat on the floor.

 

“Go to sleep, farmer boy,” Haru ordered quietly.

 

Makoto did his best to mumble a negative reply, but his eyelids slid closed and he himself slipped into the strange realm of half-waking. He must have been asleep, though, when he believed he heard Haru wishing him a good rest and when he believed he felt Haru patting his hand gently and laying a blanket over him.

 

In his dreams, the horrible razor smile and the bright red eyes lingered. The cruel desert choking his throat and throwing sand into his eyes and burning his skin lingered.

 

And it was all of it more familiar.


	2. The Mad Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A frigid nighttime stroll turns into a horror story of a warning for a certain green-eyed slave...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this short fucking chapter took too goddamn long to write so I'm cutting it where it should be cut.  
> Sorry for the intense difference in chapter length, but I figured you guys needed something to tide you over. Hope you enjoy!

The night air was chilled, and the moon and the streetlamps threw shadows down narrow alleyways. The wealthy milled about, clustering around lavish shops and talking with each other in boisterous tones.

 

Large amounts of money were proposed, and rich cloaks heavy with gems, necklaces, earrings, and tattoos were given in return. Some people were eating, some were rushing about gathering this or that, and some children were weaving about their parents, jeering loudly at each other.

 

The prince walked amongst these people, accompanied by a tall, redheaded advisor. Heavy gold jewelry and large gems of blue and red clinked and jingled. The prince listened easily while the advisor chattered on about something or another. A young man trailed behind the two, baring fresh tattoos and a troubled demeanor.

 

Light bounced and danced off of the prince’s large golden collar, inset with sapphires and diamonds. Gemlike blue eyes peered out from beneath inky strands of hair. The common folk stared as Prince Haruka passed. He sighed. People staring were boring. He readjusted his scarf across his face.

 

“King Rhashal’s visit and the banquet have put the people in a rather celebratory mood, don’t you think, Your Highness?” Rin asked brightly, eyes more yellow than bright red in the lamplights.

 

“Yes. I’m glad they don’t know of the good king’s ire,” Haru noted quietly, stopping briefly next to a common patron swathed in black dress to examine a bundle of silk at a merchant’s stall. The golden-haired merchant fluttered about, straightening this and that, offering to give the silk to the prince for virtually no cost. Haru waved him off gently and then turned to move on.

 

The other patron at the stall had a different idea.

 

“You!” The patron exclaimed hoarsely, whirling around and pointing a dirty finger at Makoto. The slave started but did not look up at the man out of respect or perhaps fear or punishment. “He has plans for you! He has plans for you, like he had for me! Like he had for _all_ of them!”

 

The man fell to his knees, screaming and coughing up blood through cracked, sunburnt lips. His skin was dehydrated and shriveled, dirty and bloodied where his cloak had rubbed sores into his joints. Open wounds on his cheeks and wrists dripped sluggishly onto the pristine sand.

 

With a mangled hand, the man snatched Haru’s wrist. “You _have_ to help him! You _must_! It is your _duty_! His life belongs to _you_! _Save him_!”

 

Several short moments followed, in which the man’s grip on Haru slackened, the coughs increased in length, and Rin pulled an ornate sword from his side. With a clean stroke, the blade separated the man’s head from his shoulders and in the next instant it was wiped of blood and stored in the golden sheath hanging at Rin’s hip.

 

Haru cast a short glance at a slightly green Makoto followed by a confirming nod to Rin, and the small company was moving again.

 

The man was a Mad One. With enough frequency to warrant attention and worry, a man went missing from his home in the dead of night, only to be found days later after wandering the desert, spouting madness and spitting up bodily fluids.

 

The Mad Ones never survived, and that was accepted. It seemed that death was a mercy to the Mad Ones.  

 

Some speculated that a vengeful god of some sort took the men’s minds and lives as payment for an ancient crime, and others believed it was a disease. Doctors declared that there was nothing they could do once a person was claimed by the Madness.

 

It was sad, but it was true. People cried and moaned about it all they wanted to, but they could not deny its existence. It invaded families and destroyed lives, and nothing was to be done but watch.

 

Haru couldn’t focus on it. This was the hunter that prowled the streets of Suna; Haru would not show weakness and allow the Madness to prey on him. He would not fall and allow his mind to be shattered. Haru let the incident slip from his mind and focused on Rin’s ongoing monologue.

 

“How unfortunate, don’t you think? What a shame for a man’s life to be wasted in such a manner. Oh, well. The common folk are particularly prone to the Madness, don’t you think? Not one incident of a noble being infected yet…”

 

“Hmm.”

 

“And did I mention that slave of yours is so much more well behaved? I haven’t observed any instances of disrespect or backtalk, which is very impressive for such a new piece of property. You have been training it well.”

 

“Hmm,” Haru hummed in response and looked down at his wrist. “Makoto.”

 

The slave moved forward to Haru’s side, “Yes, Master?”

 

“If you would, please?” Haru asked, gesturing with his wrist at the slave.

 

“Yes, Master,” Makoto replied, pulled a cloth from his pocket, and methodically wiped the blood from Haru’s skin, revealing bleeding marks where the Mad One’s long, dirty fingernails had clenched too hard.

 

“Your Highness!” Rin exclaimed, eyebrows pulling together, moving closer with a clinking of gold jewelry, “You’ve been harmed!” He smacked Makoto’s hands away from Haru’s wounds and took up the prince’s bleeding wrist himself. “We must have your wrist bound!”

 

Makoto did his best to not look as offended as he felt, and rubbed his knuckle where Rin had hit him.

 

“That is unnecessary,” Haru said, letting Rin examine the depth of the cuts, “I assure you I am perfectly fine.”

 

Rin’s protests on the matter were firm and well-founded in Makoto’s opinion; there was no telling what sickness could be hiding in the grime under the Mad One’s fingernails, and Haru’s wounds hadn’t stopped bleeding even with firm pressure on them. But Makoto wondered where the abrupt changes in attitude came from. One moment Rin was animated and excited, bubbly even. The next, he was beheading a common man with the cruelest and most vicious look Makoto had ever seen.

 

Makoto would’ve sworn that Rin’s eyes had glowed, and the tiny quirk of his lips was horrifying to say the least.

 

And now, Rin bent carefully over Haru’s split flesh, firmly pressing his hand against the slowly dripping cuts. Bright, wine-red eyes stared up at Haru tenderly, caringly.

 

Makoto wondered whether Rin was entirely sane. He wondered whether Haru was in danger from Rin. Makoto wondered whether he was in danger. He glanced back at the corpse of the Mad One and shuddered.

 

The severed head had rolled slightly after its discharge from the rest of its body. The head’s mouth hung open, revealing pointed teeth in a dagger smile.

 

The head of a dead man stared glassily and emptily at Makoto with huge red eyes.

 

((()))

 

Three hours later found Haru’s wrist bound expertly by the palace physician. The Prince lounged in his room, staring longingly at his private bath. He’d been instructed at length to not allow the binding to get wet, and the physician had cast a knowing glance at Rin as if to ask the advisor to not let Haru do so.

 

The low table in the middle of a huge circle of cushions was heaped with ripe fruits and cooked meats, slowly being picked at by the redheaded advisor.

 

The way the tall redhead had an arm slung casually over Haru’s shoulder, every once in a while trailing adorned fingers down the Prince’s wrist to touch the gauzy white bandage seemed strange.

 

“I can’t believe they wanted you to marry King Rhashal’s daughter!” Rin exclaimed.

 

Haru winced minutely, his left eye twitching nearly imperceptibly. “I can believe it,” Haru murmured, pushing a grape past his lips and chewing thoughtfully.

 

Despite what he’d claimed at the banquet, Haru’s father had most definitely not been pleased about Haru’s refusal to marry the princess.

 

During a brief audience the next day, King Nanase had ordered everyone to leave the room except for Haru.

 

Muffled shouts had been audible to those standing just outside the throne room awaiting instruction. Makoto was one of them.

 

Haru had emerged several moments later with a split lip and bruised cheek, which he refused to have treated until he’d returned to his rooms. Makoto, horrified, tended to the minor laceration himself.

 

Haru assured Makoto after a lengthy pause that King Nanase was right – the welfare of the kingdom was more important than Haru’s own, and his father needed to fulfill his duties as a king before he could do the same as a parent. Makoto, though he likely would only ever think it quietly to himself, thought that Haru sounded more like he was trying to reassure himself.

 

The prince had then spent nearly the entirety of the next day floating listlessly in his private bath while servants looked on in concern. Makoto had been quite concerned himself, and Haru had given him explicit instructions to turn away any visitors that happened to come by. Makoto shakily did just that, and received quite a tongue-lashing from Rin as a result.

 

Rin was frowning and shifting around on the huge cushions.

 

“You’re much too young to be marrying, Haru!” Rin managed to put himself even closer to Haru if that were possible.

 

“Rin, your sister married just a few months ago, didn’t she?” Haru deadpanned.

 

“What’s your point?”

 

“Rin, she’s younger than both of us.”

 

“So?”

 

“This is hopeless,” Haru said finally and sighed. He sagged against Rin’s warm torso and his eyes slid closed. “I’m exhausted.”

 

Haru seemed uncharacteristically tired to Makoto. Those cool blue eyes were drooping and dark circles ringing puffy eyelids betrayed the prince’s state.

 

“You can go ahead and sleep if you want; I’m in the mood for a nap myself.”

 

“I don’t want to sleep, I want a bath. I want water.”

 

“You can swim tomorrow, okay? You’re not supposed to get the bandage wet, Haru.”

 

“I know that. I want a bath.”

 

Haru felt so tired. The water was calling his name. He wanted to just sink into the water in the dark and never come back out.

 

A knock at the door was soon answered by Makoto.

 

“If I may ask, Honorable Sir, who calls on my Master?”

 

“Nagisa Hazuki. I was sent for.”

 

Rin looked up to see the short blonde teen standing in the doorway, all light blue fabrics and golden earrings. “Hey, Nagisa. I was wondering if you might be able to find some way to make Makoto useful in the kitchen or something.”

 

Makoto started, gaze still cast upon the ground but eyes wide. Was Rin trying to get rid of him so he could hurt Haru? Was there any way for Makoto to resist without risking his safety?

 

Nagisa raised an eyebrow, “There’s no use for him here, then?”

 

Rin shook his head.

 

“And His Highness the Prince is fine with that?” Nagisa pressed, aware of how protective Haru had been over his new investment.

 

Rin whispered something into Haru’s ear and the prince nodded sleepily.

 

“Well, alright then. Slave,” Nagisa addressed a suddenly attentive Makoto, “follow me.”

 

Makoto was led helplessly from the opulent room into the cool hallway, and he cast a glance back at Haru, who appeared for all the world to be simply nodding off into a light nap. But Haru saw the look on Rin’s face – the narrowing of his crimson eyes and the knife-like sheen of his smile as he stared down at the prince – and Haru knew that there was more at work here. Much more.

 

Rin met Makoto’s eyes before the door separated their gazes, and Rin’s grin widened. Those red eyes glowed again, along with all of the red gems on Rin’s person. Makoto remembered the Mad One’s head and he shuddered, though he felt anything but cold.

 

The door closed.

 

How clever that slave was, Rin mused, how observant. He was already suspicious of Rin. But the desert didn’t act on suspicion – the desert thrived on conviction, which Rin had plenty of.

 

The desert bent to Rin’s will. It devoured things like Makoto.

 

“Want bath,” Haru breathed, “please?”

 

“Have a nap instead,” Rin insisted, and laid a glowing hand on the top of Haru’s head, “I’ll watch over your dreams, alright? You can have a bath the moment you wake up, I promise.”

 

“Alright,” Haru felt his head growing heavier by the minute and he let the darkest water drag him down.

 

Rin unraveled the bandage on Haru’s arm and took a look at the angry, severed skin. He frowned and bent his head over the wound, pressing his lips to it and willing it to heal.

 

Harm coming to Haru was never Rin’s intention, but it did happen every once in a while. Rin carded a few fingers through Haru’s dark hair and the dark-haired prince shuddered in his sleep, pale lips parting and releasing a huge sigh.

 

The desert would leave Haru unharmed, because Rin wished it so.

 

That slave Makoto, though…Rin smiled in memory of his warning earlier. The Mad One had done his job nearly without error, though during his last few moments of life Rin's grip on his will had waned. 

 

Rin kissed the top of Haru’s head and both corners of his mouth, gently unraveling the nightmares that plagued the prince and rewinding the pleasant oceanic stages upon which Haru’s subconscious danced.

 

That slave Makoto…Rin grimaced as he remembered Haru’s change in attitude. Haru had never defied his father, nor had he every spoken against Rin before in such a cold manner before that slave had showed up.

 

The desert would swallow that slave.

 

The desert would swallow that slave, because Rin wished it so.


	3. The Broken Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troubled times with Makoto - but what else is new?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter than the first chapter, longer than last chapter. I think. Anyway.  
> Well I guess this happened. Mostly written during block schedule during testing this week 0.0   
> don't expect another update for another couple of weeks, I don't think - I have AP testing next two weeks and then it's the end of school and everything is just hectic and I still have to take my SAT and I'm so stressed I'm going to cry.  
> Hope you enjoy.

Haru’s wrist healed more quickly than seemed possible, though it could have just been Makoto’s imagination. The prince seemed no worse for the wear; if anything, Makoto found him more serene and quietly energetic than usual. It didn’t appear as if Rin had done anything harmful to Haru, which was definitely good.

 

If something happened to Haru…well, Makoto wasn’t quite sure what would happen to him. Ownership transfer to Haru’s next of kin? That would leave Makoto in the hands of Haru’s father, the king.

 

Over the course of the month Makoto had been in the service of His Royal Highness the Prince, he had seen what King Nanase did to punish misbehaving servants and slaves.

 

Haru’s father was a much more violent person than Makoto had originally anticipated, despite the fact that Makoto had seen royal slaves in miserable states before. It wasn’t until Makoto had seen the king flog a helpless, bound slave for half an hour when that slave had only moved incorrectly once.

 

That slave died of a terrible infection three days later, wracked with agony and pained screams that echoed through the stone palace and shook Makoto’s very bones.

 

Needless to say, it had taken a few hours for Haru to reassure Makoto later that Haru would never be so cruel or vicious as to flog him, but Makoto still had problems sleeping. Nightmares were a constant predator in the nighttime, and Makoto found himself exhausted more often than he found himself well-rested.

 

Makoto had thought that the desert couldn’t possibly get any hotter, but…

 

There was _fire_ in his nightmares, now. Flames licking up his skin and burning and searing and burning and burning and burning and burning until there was nothing left.

 

And the desert swallowed up the smallest speck of matter until it was indistinguishable from the pale, pale sand.

 

The huge red eyes and the terrible dripping smile laughed down at him from the dark sky.

 

((___))

 

Haru felt _good_.

 

The water was still and calm, and as Haru floated there he breathed in and out and he admired the tile mosaics on the ceiling.

 

He’d been sleeping much better the past two weeks. Even his dreams seemed like a serene pool to simply float about in for hours and hours. And as for water itself…excitement had been building up for days, since the day his father announced that Haru would be traveling to a neighboring land to study away from the pressures of the kingdom.

 

Haru would be visiting a kingdom by the ocean, and he was positively giddy.

 

The prince had visited oceans many times before, but each visit still excited and awed him. The desert may be cruel, Haru reasoned, but it is worth living in it if I get to live in a world with oceans.

 

The vast water, rolling, turbulent, cool. The fish that lived there. The defined fangs of the ocean – the powerful current and the push and pull of the tides and waves. Haru admitted that he only loved three things – his grandmother, the ocean, and mackerel. But Grandmother passed long ago, and mackerel spoiled – the ocean was constant.

 

Constancy was nice, Haru thought as he considered timelessness and the confines of being a human. He frowned. Haru would become the King of Suna in a few short years when his father stepped down. He would rule until he had an heir or until he died. Who would be there to appreciate the water when he was gone? Would there by anyone at all?

 

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath in, and let himself sink slowly deeper. The heavy, dark water closed over his head and soothed his skin.

 

Mad Ones. Mad Ones every three days or so. They stumbled around the stone monuments in the South District. They meandered about, spewing their nonsense and their heresy in the markets of the North District. They poured into the Capital City and harassed passers-by and merchants who were merely walking down the streets.

 

Makoto seemed increasingly bothered by it. Makoto seemed bothered by everything, Haru mused. What a fragile one, that slave was…

 

Haru grimaced as his lungs burned. What he wouldn’t give to breathe under water…

 

He hauled himself out of the pool and was promptly handed a towel by one of the six attendants by his bath. The servant boy bowed and stepped back against the wall, and Haru stalked his way, bare and ruffling his hair with a towel, into his main chamber.

 

Rin appeared almost out of nowhere and plopped himself down on a squishy cushion.

 

“Rin, I’ll be taking Makoto with me when I leave for my studies. Please make sure that nothing horrible happens to my chambers while I’m away,” Haru said, unaffected by Rin’s sudden presence. He padded his way into the huge closet and picked out a pair of dark blue pants, slipping them on as Rin’s reply bounced off the walls.

 

“There will be servants there, Haru. No reason to take any but perhaps an attendant for the carriage ride,” Rin contemplated. “And, you’ll only be gone for a few weeks, anyway.”

 

Haru leaned against the doorframe of the closet, crossed his arms over his bare chest, and raised an eyebrow at his friend.

 

“I’ll be bringing Makoto as a personal attendant,” Haru insisted briefly, shaking some water out of his hair.

 

“But there’s really no reason,” Rin protested childishly, nearly pouting.

 

Haru sighed, removing himself from the wall and making his way over to the huge cushions and flopping down front-first onto one of them right next to his friend. “Rin,” Haru intoned, muffled a bit by the squishy fabric, “I don’t want to have this argument right now.”

 

“Alright,” Rin’s lips quirked in a half-smile, most of the petulance gone from his face, and dropped his head onto one hand as he asked, “So…you tried him out yet?” The tall redhead cast a sideways glance at Makoto, who had gone completely red and was beginning to tremble slightly.

 

Haru stared at Rin in disbelief for a brief moment and then muttered, “No – that’s inhumane and immoral, Rin.”

 

“I mean, I don’t want to do it that often, myself, Haru,” Rin continued, completely aware of Haru’s apathy and Makoto’s discomfort but going on anyway, “but sometimes you need to put ‘em in their places.”

 

“I’m not that kind of person,” Haru mumbled finally, sitting up and sighing in boredom, picking at a loose thread in his pants.

 

Makoto seemed like he was catching on, Rin noticed. The teen stood by the left side of Haru, shaking and flushed, bright green eyes wide and fixed on a crack in the stone floor.

 

Rin barked out a laugh and threw an arm over Haru’s shoulders.

 

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing!” Rin scooted himself closer to the prince, leaning over a bit so he could say something quietly only to Haru. “Why not leave Makoto here? He’s just a palace slave, after all – what function would he serve anywhere else?”

 

Haru’s bright blue gaze went glassy as he and Rin made eye contact, and Makoto watched in horror as the rubies all along Rin’s person began to softly glow.

 

“Why not just leave him here?” Rin was entreating, “Me and Ko and Nagisa, we’d take good care of him, I promise.”

 

Haru tried hard to think, he really did. He tried to consider Makoto, he tried to contemplate the slave’s well being. But the air was so heavy and the lights were so soft and the room itself seemed to dim until all Haru could discern were two principles of fiery gemstones and the whole thing honestly seemed like so much effort, and –

 

A sudden crash came from directly behind Haru’s head.

 

A servant had dropped a tray of teacups on the floor.

 

Rin seemed livid.

 

Makoto felt as if he were watching a storm rip through the desert – powerless to act and too frightened to move, he watched.

 

Rin stood abruptly, red seemingly encompassing his entire being.

 

“You worthless, incompetent fool! You are the poorest excuse for a servant I’ve ever seen!” The redhead ranted. “Give me your arm!”

 

The slender brunette shook, cast her eyes down demurely, and presenter her left forearm to the seething advisor.

 

The crest of the Matsuoka family shined in great detail on the young girl’s pale skin, and Rin reached his hand back towards Makoto.

 

“Slave, my dagger,” Rin commanded, not once breaking visual contact with the girl.

 

Makoto hesitated, and cast a glance at Haru, who looked no worse for the wear. His cerulean eyes were clear once more, and it didn’t seem as if he was even aware what had happened.

 

“You heard him, Makoto. Give him the dagger,” Haru said, and yawned a little bit. While Makoto moved to do just that, Haru raised a brow at Rin. “Are you sure you want to do that, Rin? Broken Marks aren’t to be taken lightly, you know?”

 

Makoto was about to hand over the gold-handled, ruby-inset knife to Rin when he heard the ‘Broken Mark’ comment. He jerked the dagger just out of Rin’s reach when the long-fingered hand made to snatch it.

 

Broken Marks were serious. Slaves who proved extremely incompetent or not useful or tiring would have the pattern of their Mark broken by another jagged tattoo line, a long knife wound, or even the removal of the entire patch of flesh. Makoto felt ill as he remembered seeing one of those few he’d seen Broken – the tendon and bone and muscle and blood everywhere, bared for the world to see. You couldn’t be resold if you were broken.

 

Broken Ones almost definitely became Mad Ones eventually, if they didn’t die of starvation or dehydration first.

 

Would Makoto follow this order, and allow someone to suffer that fate out of his own fear?

 

“Slave,” Rin growled, and Makoto startled, “If you’re that determined to hold onto my knife, then you’ll be the one breaking this idiot’s Mark for me as part of your punishment.”

 

The servant girl, wide-eyed and nearly sobbing at this point, shook her head at Makoto when he caught her gaze. ‘Don’t do it, I’m not worth it,’ that gaze said.

 

Makoto’s shaking hand deposited the handle of the knife into Rin’s waiting palm and the redhead smirked victoriously.

 

“Good choice,” Rin said, and sank the first two inches of the knife into the girl’s flesh, pushing it up towards her elbow and right through the elaborate red and black flame and tooth design with a disgusting _snick_.

 

Blood welled from the wound and spilled over the edges of the cut, dripping onto the floor. The girl screamed in pain.

 

Haru was yawning again, and Haru’s head whipped to stare at the young man. Since when had Haru been so very dispassionate about the treatment of slaves? Since when had Haru stood by and not done anything to stop the punishment of innocent people who had simply made mistakes?

 

Rin was making a second cut on the girl’s arm – horizontally across the ragged remains of the tattoo, slicing through more flesh and sinew, and shedding more blood. It plopped drop by drop onto the floor, and Makoto watched with growing terror.

 

The girl was trying to jerk her arm away on reflex – and Rin struck her across the face in a swift motion before going back to his work on her arm.

 

“Now, you have five minutes to get out of this castle,” Rin leaned in closer to snarl in the girl’s face, “before I set Sosuke on you!”

 

The threat of Rin’s giant hunting dog was too much for the slave girl. The girl turned and ran. Makoto stared at the small puddle of blood on the floor and felt himself fighting back tears.

 

Rin received a towel from one of the room attendants and wiped his blade off before throwing the bloodied towel at Makoto. It landed near his feet, and Rin stared at Makoto in distaste.

 

“And you,” Rin spat angrily, “How _dare_ you defy me?” He pulled his heavy broadsword from his belt and leveled it at Makoto’s neck. With what seemed like the force of twenty horses, Rin smashed the heavy gold hilt into the crown of Makoto’s head, knocking the slave to the floor with a loud ringing in his ears. His vision blurred and he tasted blood from where he bit his tongue on accident.

 

It felt like his brain was rattling around inside of his skull, and blood dripped into his eyes from where his scalp split open.

 

Haru, despondent and apathetic, lounged and ate grapes one by one, intermittently drinking goblets of water.

 

Through Makoto’s hazy vision and watery hearing, he could discern Rin giving him more orders.

 

“Clean that up,” Rin demanded and pointed at the mess on the floor. Then he grinned widely and horribly at Makoto and bent a bit closer to the olive-haired teen. “And watch your step, slave, or the same thing might happen to you.”

 

He sauntered back over to Haru, who was examining a grape before biting into it, and sank down onto the same cushion as the prince.

 

Makoto cleaned up the blood as quickly and as well as he could, trying hard not to vomit, and then took a deep breath as he took his place next to Haru once more. Red-ringed blue irises found his own for a moment, and Makoto’s jaw clenched. There was something very wrong here. Those eyes had seemed clear before, but Makoto hadn’t been close enough to notice the glowing red encircling Haru’s own bright blue eyes.

 

Rin cleared his throat, gaining the attention of both Makoto and Haru, and smirked over Haru’s silky black head at Makoto. Then Rin caught Haru’s chin with his hand, tilted the prince’s head upwards, and met his lips in a soft kiss.

 

Makoto looked away, trying his best to ignore the soft breaths and miniscule sighs and the tiny sounds of lips pressing together and coming apart repeatedly. He heard a voice that could only be Haru’s – because Makoto _knew_ the sound of Haru’s voice, _dammit_ – moan lightly.

 

The poor slave endured this, feeling like he wanted to vomit for nearly five minutes, until Rin suddenly appeared in Makoto’s field of vision, shaggy red hair mussed, lips swollen and pupils blown.

 

“Consider this another warning,” Rin gestured to Makoto’s head wound and the door from which the slave girl had fled, “Stop changing Haru. Stop making him into something he’s not. He is a noble, and you are a slave. There is nothing short of a pardon from the king or death to change that. Do not foster any hope for anything different. Haru. Is. Mine. The very desert itself knows this to be true.”

 

Rin straightened his bright red shoulder wrap and readjusted his rings and piercings. Gold jewelry clinked and jingled and he was nearly out the door when it appeared that he remembered something else he wanted to say.

 

With a terrible smile, Rin turned and threatened as he was walking away, “It would be a shame for you to end up as a Mad One, wouldn’t it?”

 

The heavy door slammed closed, and it was as if Haru was lifted from a spell. The prince shot straight up, focused and alert, and when he saw Makoto he gasped and sprang from his place on the cushion.

 

“How did this happen?” Haru asked, now clear cerulean eyes wide and frantic, “You’re bleeding!”

 

Makoto closed his eyes and smiled, tilting his head to the right. The relief coursed through his veins so suddenly that he collapsed forward into unconsciousness, and the prince staggered under the sudden weight.

 

“Makoto? Makoto!” Haru shook the slave gently, dragging the hulking form over to a cushion. “Guards! I need assistance!”

 

Armed soldiers appeared at the door and helped Haru take Makoto to the palace physician, who determined that Makoto had been harmed by a blunt weapon of some sort. Haru was appalled that he hadn’t been aware at the time, and decided that someone broke into his room, knocked him unconscious, and harmed his property. An alarm was raised in the palace and the guard at Haru’s and the King and Queen’s doors were increased by four guards at each watch.

 

Makoto’s head wound was stitched up and Haru was increasingly worried when the slave didn’t wake for several hours.

 

Bleary green eyes blinked open finally just as news reached the palace – a Broken One had just become a Mad One.

 

Makoto burst into tears when the words reached his ears, and it took several hours before he would calm down and get rest to heal.

 

Haru was concerned, and he wondered both what Rin would think, and where the redhead was.

 

That night, for the first time in nearly a fortnight, Haru’s oceans in his dreams were turbulent and violent, tossing boats and swimmers and fish into the air and back down again. Instead of swimming peacefully through the waters, Haru was drowning and choking under the immense weight until he found the calm constancy beneath the surface. He was pulled out to sea by a gentle current and watched the ocean live around him.

 

Makoto was plagued once again by the giant red orbs in the sky, framed by heavy lashes and accentuated by a bleeding red smile – Makoto was surrounded by flames and the entirety of his being was burning and searing hot. More and more and more of him was burnt away –

 

Venom dripped onto his face and into his eyes and it stung his corneas and ate right through his retinas and he could feel his jaw being exposed to the hot sand and fire and oh gods was this how Makoto died? Would this be the last of his life? He couldn’t move he couldn’t speak – he felt his teeth falling into the uncaring sediment and being swept away by the heavy wind –

 

_“Haru. Is. Mine.”_

 

And the grin widened. 


	4. The Magic Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haru has a headache. Rin and Nagisa have a tense conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well sorry it's so short, but this was all I could squeeze out of my rather tired mind after singing at the seniors' graduation this past week. Oops. Sorry if it's not up to par or if bits of it seem off. Let me know if you hate it, I'll probably be able to fix it at some point.  
> -DH

Haru left Makoto just after the slave fell asleep, and the Prince was accompanied by four armed guards as he walked back to his rooms. He wasn’t particularly fond of the guards of the palace, but Haru supposed that because the Matsuokas were kind enough to provide training to novice soldiers via the many war-hardened generals who had fought in defense of Suna on many occasions, he could at least tolerate them doing their jobs.

 

It was strange, but he actually found the clinking of light mail armor reassuring as he strode through the hallways. The helpful redheaded young man informed Haru as the precession reached Haru’s rooms that two guards were to be stationed inside of Haru’s room at all times, and that the watch would be switched every five hours.

 

Haru sighed and rolled his eyes. “Are you sure? That seems a bit excessive.”

 

The guard blushed and bowed, “I apologize, Your Highness, but the Captain of the Guard and His Magnificence the King have implemented this watch in order to insure your safety.”

 

Haru nodded in resignation and stepped slowly into his chambers.

 

He figured it was only normal that his father would become scarily overprotective of him following such an incident. Haru supposed he should be thankful that he’d been given a clean bill of health from the palace physician, though he wasn’t too pleased that said doctor had insisted upon checking him over before attending to his actively bleeding companion.

 

To think that a person could break into Haru’s rooms, knock him unconscious, and do harm to his slave…it seemed very unlikely. Something about this conclusion was off, Haru reasoned as he stripped out of his pants and shoulder wrap.

 

The water slipped around his skin and he consulted its wisdom as he allowed a servant to wash his hair and another to file his fingernails down.

 

Haru hoped with a small part of his brain that Makoto was okay, but he also mused on the idea that Makoto was a slave, and slaves were property. That was all they were.

 

The Prince felt a tiny ache rising behind his eyes, and rubbed at his temples to maybe alleviate it. The hands left his scalp and the servant asked if it was okay for him to rinse the shampoo out.

 

“Yes, go ahead,” Haru said shortly, doing his best to keep the intensifying pain from affecting his tone. He didn’t want to seem too upset, because that would just be rude –

 

\- but who would care? Servants and slaves did not differ; all of them were below Haru’s own status, why should he care how he was perceived?

 

Suddenly, cool water struck and ran over Haru’s head and dripped down his cheeks and nose and he started violently. The headache began to fade and he slowly blinked. The room came back into focus and that servant’s hands were back in his hair, rinsing suds out skillfully.

 

His head felt…sore, almost. Strange, Haru mused. He didn’t remember hitting his head.

 

“Your Highness?”

 

Haru looked up to see Nagisa standing at the door to the bathroom. The blonde appeared concerned.

 

The Prince felt something drip onto his lower lip, and wiped at it with one hand. His fingers came away bloody.

 

((((()))))

 

The King sat, draped in heavy dark blue fabric and adorned with golden bangles and a sapphire inset collar necklace, in his padded throne. Lamplight threw impressive shadows across his regal face, and he sipped languidly from a glass of red wine. As the King rolled the flavor of the wine about his tongue, there was a great knocking at the tall door.

 

A servant opened the door and turned back to the king. “It is Rin Matsuoka, Your Magnificence. Shall I permit him?”

 

“Of course,” the King replied, passing his wine glass off to a pair of waiting hands.

 

Rin entered the room quickly, with nearly nervous steps. His face was pale and drawn, and he seemed nearly washed out by the bright red fabrics. His hair was limp and lacked shine, even in the glow of the lamps.

 

“Young Matsuoka,” King Nanase began, “sudden entrances are uncharacteristic of you. Is something the matter?”

 

Rin knelt and spoke in a shaking voice, “I apologize, Your Magnificence. I would have asked for an audience, but I felt that this matter was too urgent to wait for such formalities. I mean no disrespect.”

 

The King raised an eyebrow. “If you have a concern, Rin, I ask you to be blunt about it.”

 

“Your Magnificence, I believe Prince Haruka is in danger!” Rin exclaimed.

 

The King’s eyes widened slightly before he quickly schooled his expression. “What reasons do you have for this conclusion?”

 

Rin cast his eyes down, “The slave boy, Makoto, the one that Prince Haruka purchased at the auction a few months ago – I believe he is harming the Prince. I believe he has dark plans for your son.”

 

“And do you have evidence of this?” The King gestured as he spoke, and his goblet of wine was placed back in his hand.

 

“I consider myself a trusted friend and advisor of your son, Your Magnificence. I believe that I know when he behaves strangely – as he has been these past weeks. He has been cold, distant, nearly despondent,” Rin said, growing impassioned as he spoke, “There was an incident two weeks ago, and Haru needed his wrist bound. He claimed that the wound was from a Mad One, but I know the truth. I saw the slave boy harm your son!” Rin nearly shouted.

 

“Why has my son not dismissed or killed that slave?” The King growled.

 

“My King, I believe the Prince is being held under a dark and powerful spell. I have seen…I have seen the slave touching the Prince in a manner that is not appropriate in the slightest. Just yesterday evening, I entered the Prince’s chambers to find the slave…” Rin pressed a hand to his mouth for a moment, as if trying to stop himself from retching, “I saw the slave leaning over your son, who was unconscious and glowing with a strange light. I injured the slave and broke his magic connection with the Prince, but I do not know whether I was harming or helping your son as I harmed the slave!

 

“I believe the Prince is in danger, and Makoto, the slave, is a sorcerer who has enslaved him. I did not approach His Highness the Prince with this matter as I believed he would tell the slave. Please, Your Magnificence, I beg of you to do something!” Rin finished grandly, tears gracing his upturned face and hands trembling.

 

King Nanase took a deep breath. “I wish the guard on my son to be tripled, and I want you, Hazuki, and at least two others to observe the slave and my son’s interactions. At the end of a week, you will report back to me. If the stories match up and there is solid evidence against pointing to the slave being a dangerous sorcerer, I will order his execution. As much as I would enjoy taking the slave’s life right now, I must have more evidence before I can end a man’s life, Rin. I apologize.”

 

“Your Magnificence, the fact that you believe me at all is assurance enough to me that you will handle this matter with discretion and grace.” Rin bowed low once more and left the throne room.

 

“Rin.”

 

Rin spun on his heel to see Nagisa leaning against one of the marble columns of the hallway, looking all for the world the assistant security manager he was supposed to be. His ruby eyes were hard, and an uncharacteristic frown sat upon his mouth.

 

“Nagisa!” Rin exclaimed brightly, “I didn’t expect you to be back so soon! How is the planning for the new wall going?”

 

“As well as can be expected. However,” Nagisa pushed off the wall and moved to stand in front of Rin, hands clasped behind his back, “that is not the reason I’ve come to see you today. This pertains to a much more serious matter, I’m afraid.”

 

“And what matter is that? The slave? He will not be a problem for much longer, I assure you,” Rin said proudly, grinning.

 

Nagisa grimaced. “I couldn’t care less what fate befalls the slave, Rin. I am worried for the Prince.”

 

“What do you mean, Nagisa?” Rin crossed his arms over his chest, sobering slightly. If there was something about Haru to worry about, Rin reasoned he ought to listen.

 

“I visited him today, Rin. Do you know what I sensed?” Nagisa asked. At Rin’s negative head shake, Nagisa continued, “Your magic. Rolling off of him. The very air in his chambers reeks of it. It nearly choked me when I walked in, I was so unprepared for it.”

 

“I’ve been…influencing Haru quite a bit recently. I needed to keep him calm while I get the slave away from him,” Rin admitted, shrugging. “I don’t really see what the problem is.”

 

Nagisa pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, “Rin, for all of your gifts and nobility, you behave as a peasant far too often. His Highness the Prince is not born of magic as you and I are. He does not know how to protect himself from its overuse – his body is deteriorating. His nose bled for fifteen minutes while I was visiting him. He admitted to having migraines and chest aches.”

 

Rin scoffed indignantly, “That can’t be true! I’ve been nothing but cautious with Haru. My enchantments have been gentle!”

 

Nagisa lunged forward and grabbed Rin by the shoulders, staring up at the tall redhead, irises glowing with power and anger.

 

“The softness of your spells is _not_ the issue! You are using magic on Haru far too often! He is _dying_! You are _killing_ him every moment your magic seeps into his skin! You must stop before it is too late to heal him!” Nagisa ranted.

 

“I must put that wretched slave to death first!” Rin shouted back. “You haven’t seen the familiarity with which he interacts with Haru! You haven’t seen the changes that I have seen! He is the one hurting Haru, not me!”

 

“When has anything come before Haru’s wellbeing? When did you change, Rin?”

 

“The slave is getting too close! Haru is mine! I love him!” Rin snarled.

 

“Do you truly love him, or do you simply wish to _possess_ him? Because if you truly loved him, and you wished no harm to befall him, you would stop this madness _before_ you can no longer save him!” Nagisa shot back. The stones on his headpiece and in the piercings of his ears glowed a dull blue.

 

“Is it madness? _Is it_? I recall you using your magic to protect the ones that you loved, Nagisa. I did not fault you for it!” Rin protested.

 

Anger drained from Nagisa’s face. His hands dropped from Rin’s shoulders, and his head hung in defeat. “You promised you would not breach that subject again. You know I had no other choice.” The glow dissipated, and the stones that adorned Nagisa’s person resumed their lifeless, inanimate states.

 

“As it stands, I have no choice, Nagisa. This was never meant to go this far, but I cannot deny that I am in this situation and have only one way to fix it. The slave will die, and Haru will be mine,” Rin said with as much finality as he could muster. He turned away from his friend and was about to continue walking when Nagisa spoke again.

 

“Rin. Haru is my friend. I would do anything for him, and I know that you would, too. If you won’t stop the spells and enchantments, I will,” Nagisa threatened.

 

“Nagisa, do you honestly believe you could best me in a duel of magic?” Rin asked, turning his head to stare at Nagisa’s bowed head.

 

“You know very well that I would pay any price to keep Haru safe. That is all the answer you need, I think. One final question for you, Rin,” Nagisa said, “Is your relationship with Haru so weak that you need to poison him with magic to keep him on your side?”

 

This question was not baiting. It was not taunting. Nagisa simply wondered when his friend had changed so drastically. When he asked it was with the apathy and quiet wisdom of the sky.

 

Rin did not have an answer. His sandals clicked on the stone floor and he walked to his quarters. He opened the door to his antechamber, and put two fingers between his lips. Rin whistled two loud, long notes. Loud thuds of paws against stone met his ears, and he chuckled when a wet nose pushed against his left hand.

 

“Hey, Sosuke,” Rin started, “No hunting today, boy. Sorry.”

 

The hound seemed to frown, and he whined lowly.

 

“How would you like to get out of this room? Hmm?” Rin patted the dog’s head. “How about we go for a walk in the Market? I’ll invite Haru along. I’m sure nobody would fault you if you…nibbled on his slave a bit.”

 

The dog woofed and wagged his huge, fluffy tail.

 

“A walk with Haru it is, then,” Rin smiled and set off to find the Prince with his hunting dog at his side. 


	5. The Beloved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief history of Rin's relationship with Haru.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is WAY TO FUCKING SHORT FOR ALL THE TIME BETWEEN THIS UPDATE AND THE LAST LIKE WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE?  
> This is the last update before I leave for Italy (I leave on the 20th at 7:30am and won't be back until midnight on the 8th of july. Oops. Sorry) And I likely will not update during my trip. Sorry, guys.  
> THINGS YOU NEED TO KNOW: This chapter contains non-graphic sexy times. Well, kind of graphic. What am I even writing at this point?  
> This chapter is, mostly, a flashback. Kind of. Sort of. Jesus.  
> This chapter contains mentions of abuse. Yep.  
> This chapter is very short. Sorry.  
> Also, it's not edited. Isn't that fun? Tell me if it sucks ass because it likely does.  
> Hope you enjoy, my loves! Sorry I couldn't deliver an ACTUAL chapter, but this was all I could wring from my muse during the hectic pre-trip stress and packing marathon. My sincerest apologies.  
> -DH

It was around the time that he found hair growing on his chin and chest that Rin began to notice Haru.

 

Truly notice Haru.

 

Haru had always been very special to Rin – Haru had been a great comfort to the red head when his mother had passed away, and Rin was similarly supportive of the Prince when Her Supreme Magnificence the Empress had joined the Old Gods in the sky. Haru and Rin talked about anything, everything, swam in Haru’s pool and saw performances in the kingdom’s few theaters together.

 

It had reached a point where Rin could not remember his life without Haru, and indeed he found himself not wanting to.

 

Haru’s father was stepping into his new role as King, Haru’s mother settling into her new moniker of Queen, and Haru wanted attention from the two people who were supposed to give it to him most, only to find that they had no time for such pleasantries. Haru himself was slipping further and further through the cracks as his parents’ time was siphoned away from him. Rin saw Haru’s beautiful blue eyes grow listless and empty and sad.

 

Haru had Rin, and Rin wasn’t about to let Haru be alone.

 

Rin spared no extreme action in making sure his best friend was happier. On an outing at the Grand Market, Rin noticed the Prince’s slight smile as he observed a litter of puppies. Rin, whose magic was youthful and exuberant as a lightning storm across the desert sand, enchanted one of the pups, which then became as much Haru’s as it was his. Sosuke grew to an abnormal size and spent many an evening curled up in the crook of Haru’s arm or indeed lying across the brunette’s chest and legs. At once Haru seemed brighter.

 

Rin and Haru shared meals, baths, secrets. Rin helped Haru pierce his ears, and Haru in return helped Rin pierce his lower lip. Rin was working three times as hard as he needed to, balancing his schooling, his magical education, and working to bring his friend out of his despondency all at the same time.

 

A few years passed, and Rin’s magic evolved with his body. The gentle and helpful ambient energy that Rin used to radiate was strictly regulated, and was much more focused and powerful. Rin became taller than Haru, his face lost its childish pudge, and his voice dropped an octave along with other parts of him.

 

Rin noticed similar changes in the Prince, especially the deepening of his friend’s voice and the emergence of very certain bits of Haru’s anatomy. Nudity was not uncommon between the pair of teenagers, but now Rin found himself blushing and looking away from his friend whenever the brunette stripped down to his bare skin.

 

Rin spoke with his father about the matter, and his father laughed and clapped him on the back, claiming that his boy was growing into a strong man and everything the redhead was feeling was definitely natural. The head of the Palace Security sat his son down and gave him a long talk about men, women, and children.

 

The Prince’s best friend couldn’t help but feel that his desire for his friend was inappropriate. Haru was the prince, and Rin was simply a nobleman.

 

Rin journeyed into the South District that evening, and found a young man selling his body to satiate his desires with. Despite the pleasure he found with the prostitute, Rin couldn’t help but feel that there was something wrong. The prostitute was not Haru, and though the sex felt nice it was not with the person Rin truly wanted.

 

The redhead, now given the official title of Advisor to the Prince, found himself growing angrier as the days went on, taking his pleasures with the slaves his family employed and being left unsatisfied and frustrated. Haru seemed oblivious, and Rin wanted to be brave and tell his best friend his true feelings, but he couldn’t get the words past his lips.

 

One day, as Haru was bathing, the brunette asked Rin if he had ever kissed anyone. Rin stammered out a yes and blushed as red as the Prince’s favorite wine.

 

“Oh. Well, can you be my first kiss? I’ve never had one, and I don’t like anyone else,” Haru asked blandly, combing a hand through his dripping hair and leaning against the stone backsplash of the pool.

 

Rin’s shaky nod led to Haru leaning forward, which led to Rin leaning forward, and the two met halfway in a gentle pressing of trembling lips and Rin couldn’t breathe. It felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest because he was kissing Haru and bless the Old Gods did it feel wonderful and just as perfect as Rin had imagined it to be.

 

The Advisor stopped spending nights with slaves and prostitutes, and instead spent them with Sosuke and Haru, simply lounging around in Haru’s rooms. Rin’s father’s job and status occasionally pried him apart from Haru, and so Rin usually left Sosuke with the brunette. The kissing grew more frequent, and similarly more intense.

 

One evening, Rin’s shoulder wrap came off. The next, his and Haru’s wraps came off. Pants were removed on another night, leaving Rin to admire the expanses of Haru’s smooth, peach skin, dusted with fine dark hair and stretched exquisitely over lean muscle. Rin’s roaming fingers dragged across Haru’s chest and erect cock, and admired the way Haru gasped and arched underneath him.

 

The brunette had a similar reaction the first time Rin performed fellatio on him.

 

The first time the pair had penetrative sex was also the day that Haru’s father struck him for the first time, and Rin lavished kisses across Haru’s bruised brow as the pupils in those bright blue irises dilated. Haru’s nails dug into the skin of Rin’s back and every muscle of the Prince’s body contracted as Rin’s impressive length struck a point deep inside of him and a keening moan escaped the usually quiet brunette’s lips. Rin couldn’t take his eyes off his best friend as he himself came hard and he felt that everything was perfect.

 

The anger that Rin harbored dissolved and dissipated and he and Haru spent more nights together romantically. And though Rin felt it deep in his chest whenever he looked at the Prince – whenever he held the brunette gently in his arms or kissed him breathless in the pool or treated the tiny wounds the King gave him or watched him try to train Sosuke – he could not find the courage to tell Haru that he loved him.

 

Days and nights were sweet, but eventually Haru was engrossed in his studies to the point of physical exhaustion. Rin rubbed Haru’s shoulders and back and allowed the Prince to spill the words that tied the knots of stress in his mind, and Rin’s frustration at the King grew. The first Mad One was created out of a beggar on the street who dared to touch the Prince, whose ribs and throat were sore from his father’s abuse, and Rin realized that lashing out at those who wouldn’t be missed helped the tension in his own mind seep out.

 

Haru and Rin shared a bed at night, and Rin slept much better knowing that he could protect his lover in his dreams. With every strike from his father, Haru grew more distant and cold, and Rin managed to work him back from the edge of depression once more with constant support and reassurances that Haru’s best was enough and that the King didn’t know what he was talking about. The Advisor was particularly pleased at the results of his advice, and the Prince showed his gratitude in more ways than one.

 

The two were joined at the hip for nearly their entire lives, and they settled into a good routine with some practice.

 

One day, Rin returned from a brief trip to the South District to settle a small uprising to find the Royal Clothier walking with a bundle of slave’s clothing about to knock on Haru’s door. The poor girl looked like she was about to fall over under the weight of the heavy fabric and metal, and so Rin offered to take it the rest of the way for her. Grateful and out of breath, she thanked him and went on her way.

 

A nervous, olive-haired wretch answered the door, “If I may ask, Honorable Sir, who calls on my Master?”

 

Rin replied “The Royal Clothier has a delivery for His Highness the Prince.”

 

Later, Haru’s cold and steely defense of the bumbling Neanderthal that was his new slave spurred outrage in Rin’s very bones. The Advisor tried to tell himself that the slave wouldn’t last more than a week in the Palace.

 

But the slave called Makoto stuck around.

 

The days grew sour.

 

Rin felt the magic, hot and angry as the blood in his veins, and the untamable mass of the desert bending to his will, and as he had never done before, Rin felt the power that was his birthright straining to make this atrocity right.

 

And he let it.

 

Drunk as he was on the euphoria that was nature’s greatness funneling through his core, Rin never noticed the sickly pallor of Haru’s face.

 

He never realized he was killing his lover and his best friend.

 

And when he finally saw it, saw the pain his friend felt and heard the strained coughing and strangled breath, and delivered Haru to the infirmary himself when the Prince fell in a fever, all the air left his lungs in a great rushing of strength and he collapsed.

 

Nagisa found him like that, curled up in a ball with Sosuke whining at him in concern, eyes red ringed and puffy from crying.

 

Rin looked up at his friend and the one who had tried to warn him.

 

“How do I help him?” Rin pleaded.

 

Nagisa raised a brow. “You’ve let it go so far, Rin. The only thing you can do is get as far away from Haru as you can. Once your magic is flushed from him, I will send a missive to you and tell you when you may return.”

 

Rin stood.

 

He gathered his belongings, patted Sosuke on the head and told him to be good for Haru, agreed to join his father on a long mission to a kingdom on the plains, and left.

 

Sosuke howled from his new place by Haru’s infirmary bedside. Makoto shuddered from his.

 

The sky was dark, and the palace guards had to kill twenty Mad Ones that night. 


	6. The Exiled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time waits for no one. It heals and it destroys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is way too fucking short for how long I made you guys wait for it, but here it is anyway. Sorry, guys. I truly am. I don't even know what this story is at this point, but it cERTAINLY isn't edited properly. So if you see any glaring mistakes or inconsistencies, let me know, i guess.  
> Thank.  
> -DH

Days passed. Weeks passed. A month traipsed by unburdened by the slow recovery of Prince Haruka and the self-imposed exile of his most trusted advisor, Rin Matsuoka.

 

Haru was finally able to stand and walk by himself (though he found considerable assistance from the stone walls as he did so) a day after the moon had made a complete cycle and was growing bigger in the sky once more. His shaking, aching muscles barely remembered the motions of putting one foot in front of the other on the cool marble floors, and Haru nearly slipped and fell several times. Makoto, feeling particularly helpless, scurried and fluttered around Haru as the Prince was taking his stroll.

 

It was around the time that Haru made his full recovery from his mysterious illness (the King and the Palace Physician had it blamed on poison, which was another breach of security entirely) that the Queen developed migraines and was confined to her bed more often than not. Haru walked from his chambers to his mother’s bedside and back daily, and between improving his own condition and worrying about his mother’s, Haru’s stress level skyrocketed. And this time, Rin was not around to help bring it back down.

 

Haru didn’t know quite where Rin was, but he spent more than one evening awake wishing his redhead friend was there to hold him and tell him everything was going to be okay. The bags under Haru’s eyes didn’t disappear, even as his sickness faded.

 

The Queen’s condition was deteriorating, and at one point the Physician outright told the King that his wife would not see another summer, let alone see her only son ascend to the throne.

 

In his grief, and despite all the suspicion laid upon the olive-haired teen, the King cleared the slave called Makoto of all accusations made by Rin, though Makoto honestly hadn’t known there had been any as it was not compulsory to alert servants and slaves when charges were brought against them, and issued a small apology on the wayward redhead’s behalf before retreating to his wife’s bedside.

 

Haru was dressing himself for another day of wandering back and forth between his chambers and his mother’s chambers when there sounded a brief knock at his door.

 

Makoto pulled open the door to see the somber brown eyes of the brunette Palace Physician.

 

“Your Highness,” the Physician said gravely, “Her Grace the Queen’s condition has worsened. It would be advisable to pay your respects to Her Grace before she joins the Old Gods.”

 

Haru paused in his motions for a moment before continuing to settle the dangling jewels on his heavy golden collar.

 

“By your estimation, how long does my mother have left?” Haru asked coolly.

 

“Your Highness, it is always difficult to tell. However, I would say the rest of this day at the very most,” the brunette doctor bowed his head and clasped his hands behind his back.

 

“Thank you for alerting me. Please send a similar message to Rei Ryugazaki of the Grand Market, and to Nagisa Hazuki of Palace Security,” Haru directed easily, and then dismissed the man with a wave of his hand. The heavy door closed and Haru’s face twisted in a grimace.

 

Makoto’s eyebrows pulled together and he took a deep breath.

 

“Haru,” Makoto began, but stopped short when Haru picked up a heavy crystal decoration and with a motion faster than Makoto had ever seen him make, threw it at the full length mirror adjacent to his closet, yelling sharply in rage.

 

Pieces of glass fell to the floor, the crystal shattered into thousands of pieces, and Haru bowed his head and wiped moisture from his eyes, breathing hard in sadness or in anger.

 

A young man, an attendant of Haru’s room, stooped and began the slow process of cleaning up the shards of glass and crystal from the floor.

 

Makoto took a breath and moved to place his hand on Haru’s shoulder comfortingly as he had done many times in their brief friendship, “Haru, I know this must be hard, but-”

 

Haru’s head snapped up on contact, snatched Makoto’s hand off his shoulder, and _twisted_ until Makoto was on his knees on the floor in pain, the burning feeling in the slave’s wrist clouding his eyes with tears. The servants who usually attended Haru’s room averted their eyes dutifully, glad that they were not the ones prone on the floor.

 

“You do _not_ speak to me about hardship, slave! If I desired your counsel, I would have requested it!” Haru snarled, and squeezed Makoto’s wrist tighter, making the slave cry out in agony. His nails bit into Makoto’s soft flesh. “Now, make yourself useful and clean my chambers.”

 

Haru flung Makoto’s hand away from himself, tore a dark blue cloak from a hook on the wall, and swung it about his shoulders. “You,” Haru pointed at a youthful servant who stood close to his door, “follow me. You’ll be attending me for the rest of the day.”

 

The young man bowed low, issued a reverent, “Yes, Your Majesty,” and followed the Prince out the door, nearly jogging to keep up with the Prince’s quick pace.

 

*()*

 

Haru spent the rest of the day sitting by his mother’s bedside, holding her clammy hand and occasionally changing the damp cloth on her forehead. Rei and Nagisa arrived sometime after the mid-evening meal, and they sat on his left and right sides, watching the Queen’s breath slowly grow shorter and shallower and taking turns rubbing the middle of Haru’s back.

 

The King appeared a few hours later, and took the Queen’s free hand before reaching across the bed and taking his son’s hand. In a low, trembling voice he recited the Last and Ancient Rite of the Old Gods, breath hitching on more than a few words. Tears dripped from his downturned face onto the pristine linen sheets, and he kissed his beloved’s brow as he muttered the final words a member of the royal family was to hear before they joined the Gods in the heavens.

 

“…and as the Sovereign of this majestic land, I pray for your safe arrival unto the  Heavens of the Old Gods. May you–may you be received by the Great Sea and Sky and may your name forever be echoed by the voices of the Green Valleys and the flowers that grow there honor your life for eternity as we shall in the Realm of Mortals,” the King concluded.

 

Haru sat across from his father, surrounded by two of his best friends, and watched for the next three minutes and five seconds as the life drained from his mother.

 

()*)(*()

 

The Queen’s breath left her and never returned, and the funeral precession left the palace with her casket the next day early in the morning, planning to reach the edge of the sea in a week.

 

The air was hot, and on any other day Haru would have given no care to the suffocating dryness or the bleaching, blistering sunlight. Today it felt as if it drew his life from him.

 

Haru walked with the precession to the edge of the sprawling kingdom. He was dressed in his finest clothing, as he had been when his grandmother had passed away. He walked numbly on the right side of his mother’s casket with Nagisa and Rei following closely behind, and as he passed them by the citizens stepped off the road and bowed solemnly.

 

Some of them cried and murmured prayers for the late Queen. Some of them gazed upon Haru with piteous expressions, sorry for the teen who lost his mother. Some simply nodded their heads at the passing Prince and the precession that ferried his mother to her final resting place in the sea.

 

Haru couldn’t bring himself to cry. The woman who had nurtured his growth and change as a person and as a Prince was long dead – his grandmother had been the one who cared for him as a human being; his parents were the ones who cared for Haru as an heir to a throne neither of them had attained yet.

 

But Haru’s mother had been a gentle soul, who had married Haru’s father for love and not simply the power or money it would bring her. Duty pulled her from her young son more often than not, and Haru couldn’t bring himself to blame her for her inattention. And with his mother’s death, Haru feared for his father, who had locked himself in his chambers shortly after she passed away.

 

The Prince stopped walking at the Kingdom’s edge, standing in the shade of the nearest building with attendants swarming him and offering him water from bottles they’d been carrying and dabbing sweat from his brow and his upper lip. Softly, Haru thanked his friends for making the long walk with him, and together they returned to the Palace where Haru took off without a word and soaked in his private pool until he was so tired he could no longer keep his head afloat.

 

Makoto was the one to notice that Haru seemed to tired to be in the water, and panicked when he saw the Prince sink and not resurface. His cries alerted Rei and Nagisa, who rushed to help.

 

Rei and Makoto hauled him, spluttering and choking, out of the water, and he and Nagisa helped dry and dress Haru for bed, and the two of them left Haru to have his rest. Makoto watched over Haru worriedly, having not seen him since the mirror incident, but the Prince simply sat on his bed and stared off into space with glassy eyes.

 

Rei and his short, golden haired companion left the room. Rei gently closed the door behind him, and took Nagisa aside.

 

“How long will it take to get a message to him?” Rei asked.

 

“If my timing is right, it’s already gotten to him,” Nagisa sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. The ruby in his choker glowed weakly.

 

“How soon can he be here?” Rei demanded.

 

“It depends. He could be here in a week. He could be here in a day. He could be here in a few hours, desert willing,” Nagisa replied. He truly hoped for the redheaded mage’s speedy return, if only for the sake of his best friend.

 

“And Haru is well enough to survive his presence?”

 

“Yes. And Rin sent me a short message a while ago, claiming he has learned to manage his magic and his temper,” Nagisa explained, leading Rei gently by the hand down the hall, “Haru is healthy, magically speaking. His mind, however…” Nagisa trailed off and felt the magic of the sky swirl about him, mourning for Haru’s condition as his friend did.

 

“Is there nothing we can do?”

 

Rei wasn’t the most expressive, nor was he Haru’s closest friend, but the tattoo artist respected and knew a lot about the Prince, and trusted the teen implicitly. He knew that in Rin’s absence, Haru needed more help than usual. Rei was willing to go to nearly any length to keep Haru safe and happy.

 

Nagisa smiled wryly, “I can do nothing so extreme as use my…talents to heal Haru’s mind. I don’t want to risk it. Help Haru when he needs help. Try to protect him from further heartache. These are the only things we can do.”

 

Rei nodded in resignation. “Then those are the things we _shall_ do.”

 

()*()

 

The sand. The hot sun. The small insects and lizards that lived upon the wasteland. The choking air and the power that surged through it. Cacti scattered about through the otherwise lifeless arena in which the Great Kingdom of the South rose. He felt the thick red power of the soul of the newly departed, and wondered in disinterest who it was that raced through the desert to the gateway of the sea to join the Old Gods. The energy tasted of a quiet evening and slowly slipping through the lips of someone – a woman?

 

Today, on a day that began like the others of his exile – his healing, his journey of learning to control himself so as to not harm the one he loved – the wind carried a message.

 

The words the wind whispered into his ear had him springing from his seat in the sand and racing to gather the belongings he’d brought with him. His ruby sword hanging at his hip and a worried crease on his brow, Rin reached out to the tendrils of magic surging through the air and the ground and _pulled_ , entreating it to take him _back_ –

 

\- to take him to the one he loved -

 

\- to take him _home_.

 

The short, concise demand of the wind echoed on his mind.

 

_He is better._

_He needs you, _immediately.


	7. Author's Note.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A note about where the chapter went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note.

Content removed due to an author's realization that the story is a bit shit when she ends it in the way that she did. 

There may or may not be a new chapter some time in the future, please do not worry or ask where it went, yeah?

-DH


End file.
